


The Cursed

by unkissed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Consensual Underage Sex, Dark Comedy, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Satire, Sexual Humor, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-02-09 10:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12885660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: Protecting Hogwarts from the scourge of zombies is hard.  Being hormonal teenagers trapped in Hogwarts during a global pandemic is even harder.  Harder still, is knowing that a horde of zombies is the only thing standing in the way of finding love (or just getting laid).  Obviously, those zombies have got to go.  If Albus, Scorpius, Lily, and Lysander can manage to wrangle their romantic entanglements, they just might have a chance at surviving the zombie apocalypse.





	1. Prologue and Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this for the HP Next Gen Fest on Live Journal, but couldn't finish it in time. It is based on a prompt from GingerTodgers, though I changed Roxanne to Lily, and swapped Lorcan with Lysander. 
> 
> Thank you to Sue G. for the very thorough beta of the first few chapters and for helping me wrangle this monster into something more coherent. 
> 
> Thanks to the HP Next Gen Fest mods for being so understanding - I'm sorry I couldn't participate this time. 
> 
> As always, thanks to Colorfulstabwound and Ric for your friendship and cheerleading.

THE CURSED

_ CHRONOLOGY _

  1. _EVACUATION_
  2. _QUARANTINE_
  3. _THE SIEGE_



PROLOGUE

_DAY 3 OF THE SIEGE_

 

There is a panoramic pane of glass in the far wall of the Slytherin common room that offers a view into the underwater world of The Black Lake. Scorpius uses the sleeve of his robes to clear the condensation from a swath of foggy glass and peers worriedly through the window.

There are bodies in the dark, bottle green water. Scorpius can’t quite see these bodies, but he knows they are there, somewhere within the swaying aquatic forest of pondweeds, their skeletal limbs tangled in the dense vegetation, shackled loosely to the bottom of The Black Lake.

These are not the bodies of unfortunate souls that drowned in the lake. These are the bodies of the dead that succumbed to The Dark Virus – the dead that would not rest – the bodies of The Cursed. They had been dead to begin with when they mindlessly dragged their feet from the pebbled shore and stumbled into the water, in search of living things to devour indiscriminately. 

Scorpius can just make out the shapes of The Cursed in the green gloom of the lake. He can see splayed fingers reaching out between the slowly undulating fronds of water plants, hungrily grasping at passing grindylows and plimpies.

Suddenly, an enormous tentacle arm unfurls from the darkest depths of the water and smacks the window, causing the glass to resonate worrisomely in its iron frame. Round suckers, the size of dinner plates, squeak loudly as they slide across the glass.

Scorpius instinctively backs away from the window and accidentally collides with Lysander, his unwanted partner in this ordeal.

“Admiral Montgomery Mollusk!” Lysander shrieks with delight – a sentiment that is in stark contrast to Scorpius’ current state of terror.

“Admiral _who_?” Scorpius squeaks out, astonished that Lysander can find joy in the fact the The Giant Squid is either feasting on dead bodies or is being feasted upon by dead bodies, right in front of the window – a window that Scorpius realizes may not be as impenetrable as he’d thought.

“Admiral Montgomery Mollusk,” Lysander repeats, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world, with a tinge of superiority as if to say, _goodness Scorpius, didn’t you know?_ “Mum and I thought The Giant Squid ought to have a proper name since he’s been living here much longer than anyone else. And dad thought he deserved a title. And since he’s a waterborne beast, why not make him an admiral?”

Scorpius blinks, opens his mouth slightly, and then thinks better of responding. Instead, he draws more obvious conclusions than that of the squid deserving an admiralty. “Oh my gods, they’re eating it!” he declares, aghast, as The Cursed latch on to the squid’s flailing tentacles and tear off rubbery chunks of flesh with their teeth.  “That’s a lot of calamari,” Scorpius remarks wryly, unable to look away, somehow finding dark humor in this gruesome scene.

“Scorpius Malfoy! What an awful thing to say about Admiral Mollusk in his state of grave peril!” Lysander reprimands him.

Scorpius rolls his eyes.

Lysander bemoans, “Oh, poor Monty! He can maybe stand to lose one arm – he’ll probably just grow it back. But certainly not more than one! We have to save him, Scorpius!” He grabs Scorpius by the shoulders and shakes him frantically.

Scorpius stares at Lysander and questions his sanity. He always knew the kid was a bleeding heart for magical creatures. But this was a bit much. He wasn’t going to risk his life for a bloody invertebrate. “How about we _not_ and just, you know, try not to get cannibalized by The Cursed, yeah?”

Lysander turns away from the window with a mournful cry. “I can’t watch. I just… I have so many fond memories of swimming with The Admiral. He always liked to tickle my legs and leave sweet little kisses on my arms with his suckers.”

“In other words, it tried to eat you,” Scorpius reasons flatly.

“He would never!” Lysander sobs, “Just because somebody _can_ eat you, doesn’t mean they will.”

Scorpius raises a brow at what this statement implies about Lysander's understanding of The Cursed. “Erm… Lysander… you do know that The Cursed _can_ eat you alive, and _will_ without hesitation, right?”

“Do _you_ know that, Scorpius Malfoy? Do you _really_ know that to be a fact?” Lysander challenges, still teary-eyed. “What if Albus became one of The Cursed? Would you do anything to save him? Would you try to reason with him? Would you try to make him remember who he is?”

Scorpius grows quiet. The thought of Albus succumbing to The Dark Virus and rising as one of The Cursed makes his stomach contract and his heart shrink. It is a real possibility. Albus could be out there for all Scorpius knows, trudging around Hogwarts as part of the horde of zombies while Scorpius is trapped in the Slytherin common room waiting uselessly for Albus to rescue him.

Scorpius somberly curls up on the couch and watches as more and more Cursed join the Admiral’s feast.  With dwindling hope, he watches the dead swirling behind the glass in a growing mass of flesh dancing in the water.  Each time he sees dark hair on a dead boy, he repeats a mantra in his head until it is proved true – _It’s not Albus… It’s not Albus… It’s not Albus._

 

There is a sudden _thud_ , _thud, thud_ at the door - the slow, rhythmic thud of someone, or perhaps some _thing_ , repeatedly hitting the door - not quite the deliberate banging of somebody seeking entry. Or rather, it is not likely the deliberate banging of somebody _alive_ seeking entry. When Scorpius and Lysander go to investigate, they can hear them through the door – the hollow, hissing, snarl of The Cursed, sensing live flesh to devour.

The Cursed are upon them.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

_EVACUATION_

Albus felt anything but reassured when his father gave him and his sister a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and insisted that Hogwarts was the safest place for them right now.

It was rather difficult to feel any sort of comforting connection with his father when a surgical mask obscured half his bearded face. Instead of feeling grateful that his father was taking precautions to prevent the possible spread of The Dark Virus, Albus felt angry. Harry Bloody Potter couldn’t even show his damn face to his children one last time before abandoning them at Hogwarts.

“If Hogwarts is so safe, then why aren’t _you_ staying?” Albus questioned shortly, shrugging his father’s hand from his shoulder. He knew the answer. He just wanted his dad to admit it – that saving the world was more important than saving his family.

Lily was also not having it. She was quick to join Albus in skepticism. “Why isn’t mum here? Or Jamie?”

Albus knew that the deadly sickness had now reached global epidemic levels since it first emerged last summer, and that those who had died of The Dark Virus had recently begun to rise from their graves as cannibalistic Cursed Ones. This is what had prompted Head Mistress McGonagall to cancel classes for the rest of the year and what had influenced parents to collect their children from the school on the day that optional evacuation of Hogwarts had been announced.

The courtyard outside the castle was filled with students and parents preparing to depart.  Albus gestured angrily toward them as he voiced his skepticism. “Why the _fuck_ is everyone leaving if it’s so bloody _safe_ at Hogwarts?” 

“Language, Potter!” Headmistress McGonagall reprimanded with a shocked huff as she hurried past in a swish of green velvet robes, trailing a long roll of parchment in her wake – a roll containing the account of every person normally at Hogwarts.

Albus’ father glanced apologetically at McGonagall through his rectangular spectacles. In return, she eyed him with deep concern through her half-moon reading glasses.

Amidst her frantic list checking and the clamor of parents signing out their children, she managed to call out over her shoulder in passing, “Harry, once you’ve settled your children, I would like a private word with you in my office.”

“That’s bollocks!” Lily objected, “If this concerns us, we should be there! No secret meetings!”

Albus agreed. “You can try to protect us from The Dark Virus and The Cursed, but you can’t protect us from the truth.”

McGonagall turned and hurried back towards them with pursed lips. She leaned down slightly to speak at a more intimate volume, but did not resign her firm position. “I require a _private_ audience with the head of the DMLE Auror Division. Once I’ve spoken with the Head Auror, _then_ I shall grant a private meeting with him and his children.”

She did not wait for any sort of confirmation from Harry Potter, much less from Albus and Lily, and was off again with a curt nod, quickly turning on her heel to connect students with their surgical-mask-clad parents. “Mrs. Chen, Mr. Chen! I cannot allow you to take Jessica until you’ve signed her out… Yes, I understand your Portkey will activate in five minutes, but so are many others! I am doing my best!”

Albus’ dad sighed wearily. “Albie… Lily… I understand you feel like you’re being left behind. But you have to trust me on this one. You are safer up here, in the Scottish Highlands, away from densely populated areas. There are no reported cases of The Dark Virus at Hogwarts, or Hogsmeade, or even the neighboring muggle villages. You are better off waiting out this epidemic up here, away from The Cursed, where you have run of a whole castle, rather than holed up in our little house in London.”

“That may be the case,” Albus muttered, not sold on the idea at all, “but you’ve _still_ not explained why you, mum, and Jamie aren’t staying here with us – to be safe here _together_.”

“It’s complicated,” his dad offered lamely.

Frustrated, Albus pounded his hand on the tree against which he was leaning. “We’re not babies anymore, dad! I’m eighteen!”

Albus stared at his dad for a heavy moment of silence and watched identical green eyes staring back at him with so much pain – the pain of carrying the weight of the world – the pain of realizing that he could not prevent his children from growing up anymore.

Softened by his dad’s somber expression, Albus felt sorry for yelling. Albus reached out his hand and his dad took it readily, reaching out for Lily’s as well. “You can tell us the truth, even if it’s complicated, dad,” Albus insisted quietly, “We can handle it.”

Harry looked slowly between his two children, as if reassuring himself that this was the right thing to do, and then nodded. “Very well. I’ll tell you all that I know. All that The Ministry knows. But honestly, there’s still so much that we _don’t_ know. And it is what we don’t know that frightens me the most. It’s my job as an Auror, and your mum’s job as an investigator, and Jamie’s job as a curse breaker, to help figure out all the unknowns. That’s why we can’t stay here with you. Until we know all the details, until we know how to defuse the danger, your mum and I insist that you two remain at Hogwarts. Because it’s our job, as your parents, to keep you safe.” 

Albus couldn’t argue with this. He hated the fact that his dad’s motivations were always steered by a hero’s moral compass, and that he was always right. And damn it, Harry Bloody Potter seemed so absolutely right in this moment. 

Albus glanced over at his sister and took her free hand – she looked like she was fit to cry from frustration, the freckles high on her cheeks darkening with an angered blush, her hazel eyes becoming glassy.

“That’s all fine and well that you and mum and Jamie are doing your part to figure it all out. But how can you expect us to stay here and do nothing? I want to help. Please, dad, let me come back to London to help,” Lily implored, visibly fighting back her tears.  

Harry sighed deeply and adjusted his spectacles. He didn’t have to say _no_ , for the deep furrow forming between his brows said it all.

Lily lashed out, indignant and, if Albus was honest, a bit bratty. “Jamie’s not even a proper curse breaker yet – he’s still in training! And you’re letting _him_ help! It’s not bloody fair! You can’t fucking leave us here, dad! I don’t want to stay!”

Harry didn’t even flinch at Lily making a scene. They wouldn’t be The Potters if at least one of them were not drawing too much attention, either by virtue of just being The Potters or by way of making a ruckus.

“Lily,” he said quietly but firmly, “I appreciate that you want to help. But it would help me a great deal if I know you and Albie are safe. And that’s final.”

Lily stormed off in a petulant huff, muttering indignantly in her usual way about everything being bollocks.

Oh, dearest Lily, ever the brave and stubborn Gryffindor, eager to save the world, just like her heroic parents and her questionably heroic oldest brother.

Albus, ever the protective Slytherin, would rather seal his family in a sterile room until the whole bloody world died, rather than let his family die trying to save the world. And it was Albus, not Lily, who openly wept. He didn’t care at this point who saw or who was judging him. The thought of his mother and father and sister and even his stupid brother falling ill, The Dark Virus coursing through blue-black veins visible beneath dull, grey skin… it was too much to bear.

He sniffled and squeaked out hoarsely, “For once, I wish we weren’t Potters.”

“For _once_?” Harry managed to joke, if meekly, just trying, and failing as always, to stop his son’s tears.

Albus had _always_ wished they weren’t Potters, and had voiced this wish often, vehemently at times. Whereas once Harry Potter thought his son wished to disconnect himself from the family, it was now understood that Albus wanted his family to be free from the burden of all that the Potter name entailed.

Having been called out on his well-known displeasure surrounding their surname, Albus snorted a mirthless laugh, vaguely amused by how well his dad knew him. “Now, more than ever, I wish we weren’t Potters,” he said, not unkindly. “I wish you could run to safety and hide like everyone else.”

He glanced over to the impeccably dressed, conspicuously blond family gathered a short distance away and sighed longingly. It would be so much easier to be a Malfoy. Nobody expected anything but the worst from them, and knowing Scorpius well, Albus had come to understand how liberating that could be.

Scorpius could have done poorly in his lessons and could’ve behaved like an arrogant prat, and nobody would’ve bat an eyelash. But in the absence of pressure to be great, Scorpius was brilliant, with outstanding marks in all his classes, and was the nicest bloke Albus knew – not because it was expected of him, but because he was just inherently perfect… and obscenely gorgeous… and insanely hilarious… and infectiously vibrant… and…

“You can go over to Scorpius and say goodbye, Albie,” his father suggested, snapping Albus out of his reverie, flashing a knowing glance.

“I wasn’t…” Albus blushed hard and muttered a half-arsed, flustered denial – of what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. He was embarrassed that he was so obviously pining for Scorpius, and mortified that his dad recognized it. “I was just…”

His dad seemed to be smirking astutely behind his mask, evident in the particular way the corners of his eyes crinkled slyly, which just made Albus even more mortified. “I should go have that talk with Professor McGonagall anyway.”

As soon as his dad turned away, Albus was off towards Scorpius at a restrained sprint. The thought of his best mate leaving him made his heart ache more than the thought of his parents leaving him at Hogwarts. He wanted to run up to Scorpius and hug him until it grew awkward, and even longer beyond that. And Albus knew that Scorpius wouldn’t mind. Because it seemed that they’d always hugged. He could barely remember a time when they didn’t hug.

Astoria Greengrass, wearing an obnoxiously floral patterned dress, accessorized with a matching surgical mask and elbow-length gloves, pivoted swiftly on her precariously high heels, and pointed an accusatory finger at Albus, stopping him in his pursuit of a drawn-out farewell with her son. “This is all your fault, Albus!”

 

It was always entirely Albus’ fault, even when it wasn’t, and even when it was also Scorpius’ fault.

When Scorpius got his first detention because he and Albus were making a house out of Tarot cards in divination, it was Albus’ fault. Every subsequent time that Scorpius got detention was of course Albus’ fault. When Scorpius fell off his broom and broke his arm while he and Albus were practicing for Quidditch tryouts – absolutely Albus’ fault. When, to Draco Malfoy’s utter disappointment, Scorpius decided he was not all that into Quidditch anyway, it was Albus’ fault, even though Albus was also disappointed. When Scorpius thought he wanted purple hair – sort of Albus’ fault. When Scorpius was nearly expelled for skinny-dipping in the Black Lake – maybe Albus’ fault. When Scorpius came off the Hogwarts Express for winter holidays quite tipsy… _totally_ Albus’ fault.

 

And so Albus met Scorpius’ mother’s anger with the calm smile of one who no longer had any shits to give. “What grievous mistake has your son made that I’m responsible for _now_?”

“Scorpius is refusing to come home. And it’s all because of _you_ ,” she said, with both despair and outrage.

Albus’ eyes went wide. His heart did a little flip inside his chest. “Really?” He looked to his best friend for confirmation.

“Really.” Scorpius smiled, and Albus thought he saw a tinge of pink upon his cheeks.

Draco Malfoy, who remained aloof and so very done with the world as ever, began to explain tonelessly, “Scorpius heard the infernal ginger spawn--”

“Draco, _really now_ ,” Scorpius reprimanded his own father more indignantly than Draco Malfoy had ever reprimanded Scorpius.

“Excuse me,” he drawled unapologetically with an equally unrepentant smirk, “Scorpius heard your dear sister carrying on about you both remaining at Hogwarts. And he reconsidered coming away with me to my summer villa in Corsica, in favor of staying here with you. And I thought--”

“And _I_ thought it was a foolish idea,” Astoria cut in, in opposition of her ex-husband, as usual.

Foolish or not, Scorpius was staying because Albus was staying. And that gave Albus a fluttery feeling in his chest.

Draco finished his sentence as if he’d not been interrupted and contradicted, “--it _wasn’t_ the worst idea ever. If Saint Potter--”

“Dad, _honestly_ ,” Scorpius chided his father again.

Draco continued, unfazed by his son and ex-wife constantly interrupting him, “If The Great Harry Potter believes the safest place for his children is at Hogwarts, then it is good enough for Scorpius.” 

And then Draco spoke as an aside to Astoria, not trying very hard to hide his irreverent words from Albus, “Honestly, if the Chosen Prat’s brood is staying here, I’m sure no expense will be spared to ensure the security of the castle. All the Malfoy endowments towards post war reconstruction notwithstanding.”

“I don’t bloody care if this place is as secure as bloody Azkaban,” Astoria argued, “I still say that the safest place to be during a pandemic is on a small, uninfected island.” 

“Until someone carries the virus to the island," Scorpius reasoned, "and the entire population falls ill like a bunch of rats trapped in an infectious cauldron and the island becomes overrun with The Cursed.”

Draco gazed proudly upon his son, looking impressed behind what he probably considered a tasteful surgical mask of grey flannel. “Excellent point, Scorpius. Perhaps the manor would be a safer choice than the villa. Leagues away from the city, miles away from another living soul.”

“Hey, just like Hogwarts!” Scorpius said cheerily, “And we’ve got elevation on our side.”

As The Malfoys continued to discuss it, or rather, argue about it, the more Albus began to see why his own father was right. And he felt reassured that here, at Hogwarts, with his best mate at his side, really was the safest place to be. Thankfully, Draco and Astoria could finally agree on something, which was to allow Scorpius to stay.

  

But after the private meeting with the Headmistress, Albus’ doubts about the safety of Hogwarts, or anywhere really, would reemerge with a vengeance. Rather than in her office, the meeting was to take place in a tent serving as the Headmistress’ temporary office in the courtyard.

It wasn’t the first time that Harry Potter, Professor McGonagall, and Albus had been in a private meeting. But those meetings had usually been regarding Albus’ behavior – his proclivity for mischief and playful misconduct and, according to Astoria’s numerous complaints, his tendency to drag Scorpius into purported juvenile delinquency.  

Lily hadn’t been a stranger to these sorts of meetings either, though her meetings had usually been about her violent misconduct on the Quidditch pitch – at least as far as Albus knew.

For the first time, Albus and Lily were now together for a private meeting with their parents and McGonagall. And to make it even more officially a Potter family meeting, Ginny and James were already inside the tent when Harry had called in the two youngest.

Lily practically dove at their mother upon seeing her in the office tent, beating Albus to her arms, leaving him to give James a one-armed hug that was more obligatory than affectionate. When it was time for Albus to embrace his mum, he didn’t want to let go. He took a deep breath and kept the smell of her shampoo and the subtle scent of home inside his chest for a while before mumbling, “Missed you, mum.”

He hoped in the recesses of his foolish heart, that she would stay here where it was supposedly safe.

“Miss you too, little monster,” she said fondly.

Of course, she wouldn’t stay, and it made Albus resent his father just a little bit. _If she were not a Potter…_ , he couldn’t help but think yet again. 

McGonagall was thankfully there to mediate this meeting, or at least to mitigate the emotional component by being a buffer – it was much more difficult to yell impetuously at the stern Headmistress than it was to yell at one’s parents.

Albus’ mother began, “We’re sharing this information with you kids because we know it will eventually leak, and I’d rather you find out the facts from reputable sources, instead of hearing scraps of misinformation. But right now, to prevent widespread panic, this information will not be released at large until The Ministry makes an official statement. Understood?”

Ginny Potter sounded every bit the investigative reporter for The Daily Prophet, and nothing like a mother. And this was visibly offending Lily. “Mum, that’s _crazy_ ,” Lily said, exasperated, “I mean, I’m glad that you’re going to trust us with this top secret information, but it sounds almost irresponsible, even _immoral_ , to not go public with it.”

But Albus understood. His mother may have been a Gryffindor, but that was perhaps more by virtue of her Weasley name and her personal choice than her true nature. She was clever, and cunning, and fiercely protective of her family, sometimes at the expense of others, just like a Slytherin.

“Don’t be so quick to get all judgmental on mum,” Albus admonished his sister, “You haven’t even heard the information yet.” 

“Oi, just shut it, both of you,” James scolded impatiently, “Let our poor mother speak.”

Before things could get more heated, Ginny chimed in. “We love you, and we want you to be safe above all else. So just… listen to what we all have to say,” she said, smoothing her hands over the long table inside the tent, as if flattening out the wrinkles of dissent in her family.

McGonagall took a cleansing breath through her nose before beginning gravely. “The Dark Virus, as you know, has infected thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands world wide at this point. Many have already died and become Cursed. There are no reports of recovery. So it can only be assumed that, unless a cure is found, all those who contract the virus will die, only to rise again. Hundreds of thousands will die, if not by the virus, then by The Cursed. The walking dead will soon number in the millions if a cure is not found.” She paused to let this sobering fact set in.

Albus wanted to seriously revisit the idea of sealing himself in a sterile room with his loved ones until the rest of the world died.

Lily erupted, her voice hoarse with distress, “Isn’t somebody trying to find a cure? Some potions master? Healer? Muggle doctor? This is insane! Isn’t anybody trying to save bloody humanity?”

“Of course, Lily,” McGonagall reassured her, “There are even talks in the highest ranks of government about breaking the statute of secrecy to collaborate with muggle scientists to find a cure. If there is a cure for this virus, we would trust the muggles to figure it out – they can work wonders with those vaccines of theirs. But this cannot be left solely in the hands of the muggles. For it is not like any other virus seen by wizards or muggles.” She gave Ginny a pointed look over the rim of her spectacles, cueing her back in. 

“Data compiled shows that the virus disproportionately affects muggles and muggle borns. In fact, there have been no reported cases of pureblood wizards coming down with the virus, as of yet – but we will not take any chances.” Albus’ mum was talking in that journalistic voice again, and Albus’ head started to swim. “These statistics would lead one to conclude that there is some genetic component at play. Some predisposition carried in muggle genes, or some immunity carried in wizard genes. Though the mechanism of transmission between the living has not been determined, it appears that one can become infected through a bite from one of The Cursed.”

James shamelessly yawned at this point, earning him a displeased look from his mother. 

Albus couldn’t help but think how enthralled Scorpius would be by this very _muggle science-y_ conversation, and he knew he could hardly be expected to keep this a secret from him.

Ginny passed the reins to Harry, who explained, “Some of us at the DMLE suspect it might not be about genetics at all. There could be something much darker at play. There is a reason why these zombies are called The Cursed.” 

“Right. That’s where I, the curse breaker, come in.” James was all too pleased to be speaking as an expert. Apparently being a trainee among curse breakers was enough to deem James a reputable source. And though Albus didn’t trust his brother to be anything but full of hot air, apparently their parents did trust him.

James cleared his throat, straightened in his chair, and seemed to puff out his chest to give himself more presence, not that he needed it. “I’ve been appointed to a special task force of curse breakers investigating the The Dark Virus and The Cursed.” 

Lily mumbled, speculating, “You mean your boss has been appointed to a special task force, and you’ve been sent out for an extended coffee run.” 

From the sharp glare that James gave his sister, it was apparent that she was not far off the mark, if not spot on.

James continued, “We _think_ that either the virus itself has a curse component, or that the victims of the virus have been cursed after death, causing them to rise as zombies.”

“You _think_?” Albus cut in, staring incredulously between the elders at the table, “Okay so you’re all basically telling us that nobody really knows why this is happening – not the Ministry, not the muggles – and nobody knows how to stop it. But, bloody hell – you’re wasting your time trying to figure out if it’s a virus you can cure or a curse you can break. You’re not talking about the real issue here.” Then Albus slapped his hand on the table to emphasize each word. “Zombies. Are. Eating. People! What the fuck are you doing about it?!”

“Oi! Watch your fucking language, Albie!” James admonished him.

“Both of you, show some fucking respect,” their mother scolded them. She turned to McGonagall and said, “I apologize for their coarse words. I’ve no idea where they get it from.”

McGonagall pursed her lips, not amused, then asked Harry, “Well, what _are_ you doing about it?”

“Many of The Cursed have been isolated in quarantine facilities,” Harry replied.

“ _Quarantine_?!” Lily erupted, “As if they’ll just somehow get over it like a bad case of dragon pox? They’re _undead_. And they’re eating people alive. They need to go back to being _completely dead_. Why aren’t they being destroyed?”

“They’re still people, Lil’,” Harry pointed out gently. “They deserve dignity, even in death.”

Lily threw her hands up. “You’ve got to be fucking joking!” Then she gestured at James. “Jamie. Big shot curse breaker. How do you kill what’s already dead?” 

“We’re not sure,” James answered. “No spells or hexes work on them. Fire seems to slow them down, but they just keep going, even when flaming. This all points very heavily towards the presence of a powerful curse. It seems The Cursed don’t stop unless they’re hacked to little pieces, and that’s not an easy feat when they’re trying to eat you.”

“Oh, so you’ve killed one?” Lily asked, skeptical.

James shifted uncomfortably in his seat and gave a guarded answer.  “Maybe…”

Meanwhile, Albus felt panic rising up in his chest, making his heart beat too fast and his lungs feel tight. Until now, he had assumed that the government had this situation under control – that there was a plan of action. He was starting to understand that this was the beginning of the end of the world. He started to hyperventilate. Between short, erratic breaths, Albus lamented, “Oh gods, we’re screwed.” What he thought had been the worst thing to imagine – his family becoming sick and grey skinned and black blooded – was nothing compared to the thought of his family being eaten alive by a mob of zombies, their flesh being ripped from their bodies as they screamed in horror.

Concerned about Albus’ reaction, Ginny remarked to the others, “We’re scaring them. We should stop talking about this.”

“They need to be scared, Ginevera,” said McGonagall, with both fear and determination in her quivering voice.

Harry was quickly at Albus’ side, holding him and comforting him. “Breathe, Albie. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be safe here.”

Amidst his panic attack, Albus managed to glare angrily at his father. “But you’re not. You’re not going to be safe. Mum’s not going to be safe. Even bloody Jamie. If you’re out there, you could be eaten.” Then he whined hopelessly, his voice rasping as it caught in his throat, “You’re _not safe,_ dad. _You’re not safe._ ” 

Lily shook her head, also in tears, as her mother came to her side. She was clearly upset, but not at the same level of suffocating panic as Albus. “This is bollocks!” she protested hoarsely, “Somebody has to do something. Somebody has to kill these things. Protect the defenseless. No bloody way am I staying here while people out there are being eaten alive.”

“Stop. Just, stop. Everyone,” commanded McGonagall, a hand raised primly. She snapped her fingers, and glass tumblers came flying out of a cabinet along with a bottle of Ogden’s Reserve. “We all need to calm down. We could all use a good, stiff drink.”

“Even me?” Lily raised her eyebrow questioningly at the headmistress.

McGonagall seemed to reconsider, but then relented with a sigh. “Even you.” This did not bode well, when professor McGonagall was sanctioning underage drinking on school grounds.

Albus watched the glasses in front of them magically fill with two fingers of whiskey each. He eagerly took his tumbler with his shaking hand and caught his breath enough to take a deep swig, followed by a shudder from the way the firewhiskey burned down his throat. But it was not the first time that Albus had tasted it, and so he emptied his glass in the next gulp. Albus’ swift uptake of the alcohol did not go unnoticed by his parents, who both gave each other a concerned look.

The rest sipped in silence. And once frayed nerves were soothed, McGonagall continued the conversation. “From what you’ve told me, I’m inclined to believe that The Cursed are the result of dark magic.”

The alcohol must have been doing a bang-up job on Albus, for he thought to himself, _The Cursed would make a wicked band name…_

“It is possible that there is a mastermind setting the curse upon these victims, and if we can find that wizard, we might be able to stop The Cursed Ones,” Harry explained, more to McGonagall than to his two youngest children, “The Auror Division of the DMLE is out there looking for any dark magic associated with The Dark Virus and The Cursed.”

_Now THAT’S a wicked band name! The Dark Virus and The Cursed!_

Finding that the firewhiskey was doing well to calm his anxiety enough to make him insolent again, Albus asked, “And you expect us to do what, now? Lock the doors, wait for dead things to find us, and hope for the best?”

“You will arm yourselves,” McGonagall answered firmly, “You will train. You will not be sitting ducks in this castle. You will defend it, if it comes to that. Tonight, I will address all the remaining students and staff in The Great Hall after dinner. Until then, finish your farewells and make final arrangements.” She stood up with finality and said, “Dismissed.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_EVE OF QUARANTINE_

 

The small group gathered around the single dining table in The Great Hall could have been mistaken for a Potter-Weasley family get-together at The Burrow, with a few outside guests.

Scorpius had long since gotten over the feeling of being extraneous at one of these gatherings, be it a birthday party or holiday dinner. It was always expected that Albus’ best mate would be in attendance, family or not. It just so happens that, for nearly seven years, Albus’ best mate had been a Malfoy. Most of the Potters and the Weasleys accepted it like it was nothing to bat an eyelash at. Those who hadn’t, namely James Potter and Ron Weasley, could go fuck themselves for all Scorpius cared.

This particular gathering had been as laid back as any Potter-Weasley party. As he was apt to do at such a soiree, Albus sat particularly close to Scorpius. Scorpius did not mind, content to furtively throw shade and exchange whispered inappropriate jokes into one another’s ear all night as the rest carried on as obliviously and ill-mannered as ever.

“ _Ew!_ Could your sister and Lysander be any grosser?” Scorpius remarked, watching the pair in question hand feeding one another chips and licking the mayonnaise off the other’s fingers, “It’s obscene, the way they’re practically going down on each other at the dinner table. Just _look at them_.” Scorpius shuddered with disgust. 

“I’d rather not watch my own sister make out with her boyfriend, thanks,” Albus muttered, making a visible effort to concentrate on his own fish and chips. 

“Exactly!” Scorpius concurred, “Which makes it all the more obnoxious that they do it _in front of you_. Lily, I sort of understand, sibling rivalry and all. But Lysander is your _ex-boyfriend_ , for fuck’s sake. If I was your ex-boyfriend, I wouldn’t be so bloody classless. If I was your ex-boyfriend, I wouldn’t be snogging your _sister_ while you were right there, trying to eat.”

Albus smirked around a bite of fried cod. “Thinking about applying for the position of ex-boyfriend, are we? There’s a prerequisite for that, you know.” He gave Scorpius’ shoulder a friendly nudge with his. 

Scorpius knew exactly what Albus meant. Before being Albus’ ex-boyfriend, one had to be Albus’ boyfriend. But rather than directly acknowledge the meaning of Albus’ subtle flirtation, which was not exactly uninvited, Scorpius approached it sideways.

“Hm, let’s see,” Scorpius speculated jokingly, tapping a finger on his chin. “Prerequisites for being Albus Potter’s ex-boyfriend. Must have intelligence on par with a flea. Must love pets, far too much, both quantitatively and qualitatively.”

Albus giggled and jibed fondly, “Gods, you’re such a nerd, Scor.”

Scorpius loved making Albus laugh, especially at the expense of others, such as Albus’ daft ex-boyfriend. “Other prerequisites include using too much tongue when snogging, and forgetting one’s own teeth during more, erm, _intimate_ displays of affection.” Scorpius smirked salaciously. 

Albus snorted a laugh, nearly choking on his dinner. As inelegant as that laugh was, Scorpius still loved it. In fact, Scorpius loved _every_ way that Albus laughed, from his melodic giggle to his breathless snicker, and even his sonorously nasal chortle. Making Albus laugh gave Scorpius a warm feeling all over his body. Scorpius was only recently beginning to understand what that meant.

When Albus had caught his breath enough from laughing, he corrected Scorpius. “Actually, that was me, with too many teeth. Nearly scraped the skin off his prick once.”

Scorpius tried to bury the unpleasant feeling he always got when hearing the dirty details of Albus’ sex life. It was a feverish, prickly feeling that did not stem from any prudishness on Scorpius part, for no sexual topic was off limits between them. That uneasiness came from deep jealousy that he had absolutely no right to feel. Albus was his best friend, and their friendship was sacred. When befriending somebody as beautiful and wonderful as Albus, one had to expect to share him with every bloke that would inevitably fall in love with him.

Scorpius attempted to divert his bitterness and jealousy in favor of being subtly flirty. But it was difficult to be subtle when speaking quietly at someone’s ear – some level of inadvertent intimacy couldn’t be helped. “Well, some people actually like that sort of thing,” he purred.

Albus grew quiet for a hot moment, the warmth radiating off his blushing cheeks bringing color to Scorpius’ own face. Scorpius felt that heat rushing down the back of his neck as he watched the pulse of Albus’ jugular vein speed to an excited rhythm. He pulled back to gage Albus’ reaction, for his silence was worrisome. Had Scorpius’ joke gone too far?

Albus took his own bottom lip between his teeth as he eyed Scorpius with dark curiosity, which only exacerbated the warm flush now reaching alarming locations of his body, and Scorpius had to shift uncomfortably in his tightening trousers. Scorpius knew what Albus was doing. He was trying to extract a secret from him, and when his attention was this intensely focused on Scorpius, well… it did _things_ to Scorpius. 

“What did you do, Scor?” Albus asked, not accusingly, but with genuine, fiendish amusement rumbling deep in his throat. “Or should I ask, _who_ did you do, Scor?”

Albus might as well have been asking to watch next time, the way he was drawling with devilish sensuality. Scorpius was sure he was imagining the lasciviousness in Albus’ voice, and that delusion was more on par with a sexual fantasy than Scorpius would have liked.

“Details, Malfoy. Spill ‘em,” Albus egged him on, “Or I’m calling bullshit.”

And the spell was broken. Scorpius really must have been imagining any perceived seductive exchange.

Scorpius blinked rapidly and gave a small, dismissive laugh. “Honestly, Albie, what do you think? Look at me. Look at these lips.” He pointed at said lips.

Albus squinted, looking for something that wasn’t there.

“These lips have never had the pleasure - or misfortune, honestly I wouldn’t know - of kissing a boy’s cock. Not even a boy’s _lips_ ,” Scorpius admitted with dramatic flair, “These are the pathetic virgin lips of a pathetic eighteen-year-old virgin. Gaze upon them with all your pity and sympathy and thinly-veiled repulsion.”

“You’re such a dork,” Albus chuckled, smiling fondly at Scorpius.

“I know!” Scorpius gestured with his hands, emphasizing its obviousness.

“Not because you’re a virgin. It’s because you think I care that you’re a virgin,” Albus explained. “Hell, _I’m_ even a virgin in the literal sense, and you _know_ that. So how does it make you more of a dork than me if you’ve never given a really bad blowjob before? If anything, I’m the bigger dork for not understanding how to properly give head without potentially biting some bloke’s dick off.”

Scorpius seriously considered this. “I suppose one’s _dorkness_ can not be inversely correlated with one’s sexual experience. Because Lysander Scamander is clearly a complete and utter slut and we both know what an absolute dork he is.” 

“Dude, don’t slut shame. That’s not a good look on you,” Albus admonished him, more facetiously than anything. “I like it better when you’re pretending that you’re a total cock slut that gives S and M flavored blowjobs.”

They both erupted into wheezy peals of laughter. Scorpius wiped away a tear of mirth as he caught his breath enough to say, “Oh my gosh. _Cockslut that gives S and M flavored blowjobs_. I can’t even be offended by that when it’s so… stupid and clever at the same time.”

The two were slaphappy at this point, feeding off one another’s silliness. And Scorpius could almost be fooled into believing this was really a celebratory get together, and not a somber gathering of leftovers and stranded castaways.

Headmistress McGonagall was quick to remind him of this fact as she called the post-dinner meeting to order before dinner was even finished, having recognized that the meal was quickly devolving into an ill-timed party.

“Settle down, now. We’ve important matters to discuss,” McGonagall called out from her position at the head of the table. “First order of business - roll call. At every meal, each of you, students and staff alike, shall be accounted for. Do not take this lightly. Though it is not required of you to actually partake of every meal, you must check in for roll call or the worst will be assumed. You do not want to initiate a school-wide manhunt for a possibly infected person because you arbitrarily chose to skip roll call.”

The severity of this statement made Scorpius and Albus give each other a concerned look. “Harsh, don’t you think?” Scorpius whispered.

Albus shrugged. All of his lightness and playfulness had been drained from his expression, and this worried Scorpius more than the headmistress’ new policy. 

“What’s wrong? What is it? You’re not telling me something – I know it,” Scorpius demanded. He could always sense these things from his best mate. 

“Tell you later,” Albus whispered. And from the tone of his voice, Scorpius knew that what Albus had to say was not pleasant.

McGonagall handed a sheet of parchment to Professor Teddy Lupin, who was seated at the headmistress’ left, looking no less awkward as the new Transfiguration teacher, even in his second year on staff.  

“When I call your name, please respond with _present and clear_ or, erm… not,” Professor Lupin instructed, “That second part of roll call will be explained later.” He launched right into roll call before anyone could ask questions. But that really didn’t stop anyone, not the least of whom being Scorpius.

“Er, how can we answer whether we’re clear or not, if we don’t know what we’re clear of?” Scorpius asked.

Professor Lupin seemed thrown off by this unsolicited question and stuttered, “Erm, I, well, I can’t really answer that but--”

McGonagall had no patience for Lupin’s floundering and cut in, “Just confirm that you are present for now. The rest will become quite obvious later.” 

Professor Lupin seemed embarrassed to be handling this so poorly in front of the headmistress, his mentor. He collected himself before beginning. “Erm, okay. Roll call. Longbottom, Hanna.”

“Present, and incidentally clear,” answered Professor Longbottom’s wife, who was now apparently staying up at the castle rather than their house in Hogsmeade. 

“Longbottom, Neville.”

“Present, and incidentally clear as well,” answered the Herbology professor sitting to the headmistress’ right.

“Oh. I’m on here. Of course, I am. Silly me. Erm, Lupin, Ted - Obviously present. Clear, just so you know. McGonagall, Minerva.”

“Present and clear,” she answered, succinctly.

Scorpius found it slightly annoying that, so far, all the adults knew about this whole _clear_ business.

“Oops, sorry, skipped one. No offense. Malfoy, Scorpius.”

“Present, no offense taken, and I have no bloody idea if I’m clear,” Scorpius announced cheerily.

“Patil, Parvati.”

“Present,” The Divination professor replied distractedly as she scrutinized the water in her glass, as if divining secrets from it, “Clear.” 

“Potter, Albus.”

“Present. And clear, I think..?” Albus responded, unsure.

Scorpius raised an eyebrow at him and mouthed, _what the fuck?_ Albus shrugged apologetically for possibly knowing something that Scorpius clearly did not. 

“Potter, Lily.”

“Present, and clear. I’m positive about that,” Lily answered confidently.

“Children, you were instructed to simply confirm your presence,” McGonagall reminded them, “Please refrain from speculating about the second assessment.”

“But it’s kind of obvious, Professor,” said Lily. “ _Clear_ means we’re clear of The Dark Virus. We’ll know, because our veins are normal. Not dark and visible through our skin, like those with the virus. Right?”

“You’re not wrong,” McGonagall replied, not the least bit impressed by Lily’s deduction.

Scorpius felt stupid that he hadn’t figured it out before Lily. But he still had questions. “Okay, so what if somebody’s _not_ clear. Are we supposed to just run from the dining hall?”

“ _Clear_ is more of a confirmation that you’ve been checked, rather than a declaration of showing no signs of the virus. We’ll discuss this further after roll call.” There was no sidetracking McGonagall, apparently. “Can we pick up the pace please, Professor Lupin?”

Unable to let go of his myriad of questions, Scorpius leaned into Albus and whispered, “What if I’ve got those gross spider veins on my bum or something? How would anyone know?”

“Strip search? I don’t fucking know, Scor,” Albus replied, just as exasperated by Scorpius’ questions as the headmistress.

“Oh gods, you don’t honestly think so?” Scorpius hissed under his breath. “I really don’t fancy being _starkers_ in front of the teachers.”

“MALFOY!”

“Present, clear, and all that. I thought I was called already,” Scorpius responded dismissively, too caught up in his web of questions to notice he was actually being silenced by McGonagall, until Albus nudged him gently and put a finger over his mouth. “Oh. Sorry,” Scorpius apologized, not remorseful in the slightest.

 

Scorpius hated when adults kept secrets. He hated it when they tried to keep him in the dark because he was supposedly too young, too sensitive, too delicate to know the truth, even when he’d known more than he let on. Like when his parents were divorcing – they’d not told Scorpius for a good year while the lawyers sorted out the complex details. And when they finally sprung it on him after the papers were already signed, Scorpius had already seen it coming a mile away.

 

“Scamander, Lysander.”

Lysander was staring blankly with his chin resting on his palm. It took him a while to realize he’d been called. “I’m right here, Professor Teddy Lupin,” he finally responded, as if Lupin was silly to ask, as if they all hadn’t been waiting on him to answer.

Scorpius couldn’t help himself and whispered to Albus, “Here, but not present, as always.” He was only mildly upset that Albus didn’t respond with a quiet snort or any indication that he found Scorpius’ assessment to be funny or clever.

“Sorry. Skipped one again. Scamander, Lorcan.”

“Present,” came the deep, booming, serious voice of Lysander’s twin and polar opposite.

If Lysander was a _special_ little flower, Lorcan was a fucking birch tree. Immensely tall, blond, leanly muscular, and cheekbones for days, like a Norse god. If he weren’t as thick between the ears as the circumference of his quidditch-honed thighs, Scorpius might have found him vaguely attractive. Not that Lorcan appeared to share his twin’s pansexuality. If anything, Lorcan was probably asexual. Which was lucky, because he was _exactly_ Albus’ type. Though, it might have been worth the pain of watching his best mate snogging another Scamander to see the devastated look on Lysander’s face upon discovering that he’d been dumped in favor of his brother.

“Smith, Zenith.”

“Present, Sir,” a fifth-year girl answered primly, whom Scorpius and Albus fondly referred to as The Ghost of Hufflepuff, The Fat Friar notwithstanding.

 

Zenith was not in fact a ghost, but one really had to wonder upon meeting her for the first time. She was very pale as Death herself, with unnaturally black rivulets of hair, and had embellished all her school robes with black lace, so that she looked like a Victorian lady in mourning. Scorpius and Albus were fairly certain that that was the look Zenith was going for. Speaking to her, one could be fooled into believing they were talking to the portrait of a young lady who had been alive over a hundred years ago, such was her historically accurate manner of conversation.

 

“Weasley, Hugo.”

If the unassuming boy had answered, Scorpius wouldn’t have noticed. The kid was so far beneath his notice, or anyone else’s notice, for that matter. He was an accessory Weasley, as far as Scorpius could tell. He did not have his sister’s encyclopedic knowledge. He had none of the charms, or personality quirks, or talents, or otherwise distinguishing characteristics of his cousins. He just sort of existed to follow his sister and cousins around silently, like one of those little fish that swam close to bigger fish in hopes of catching scraps of food that fell out of their mouths. Scorpius kind of felt sorry for the kid.

Apparently, Hugo had indeed answered, for Professor Lupin had quickly moved on. “Weasley, Louis.” He mouthed the words very carefully, and it had nothing to do with the ancient history Teddy Lupin had with Louis’ sister, Victoire.

Louis gestured with his hands, and Professor Lupin understood that the precise way his hands moved had indicated his presence.

Like his cousin Hugo, Louis rarely spoke. But unlike Hugo, it was not for lack of anything to say. Rather, Louis always had a lot to say. The fact that he’d been deaf since birth did not prevent Louis from being an active participant in conversations with his siblings and cousins who had learned sign language.

And because he was so good at observing his environment, interpreting body language, and reading lips, Louis knew everyone’s secrets even without having them divulged to him. It was a pity that Louis was far too noble to sell those secrets – oh, the questions Scorpius would ask him! 

 

“Weasley, Rose.”

“Present,” she responded, never looking up from her book, as was her usual state of being, other than annoyed with the whole world for interrupting her studies, which prevented Scorpius, a fellow self-professed scholar, from befriending her. The bloody apocalypse could be coming, and Rose Weasley would sigh, wedge a bookmark into her tome, and set it aside grudgingly.

Actually… that was shaping up to be reality rather than hyperbolic allegory, if this insane zombie pandemic wasn’t quelled soon.

  

“Zabini, Bryce.”

“Present,” he responded haughtily with a bored stretch of his arms.

What could be said about Bryce, other than that he was an ignorant, arrogant arse who was the straight ally that no gay person asked for? He was the sort of bloke that thought it was okay to use words like _faggot_ because two of his oldest friends were gay, which was just as offensive as if Scorpius had used the _N-word_ because Bryce was his friend and was black. Bryce was a homophobe who was so sure he wasn’t a homophobe by virtue of being friends with Scorpius since birth. Bryce’s saving grace was that he was intensely loyal to and protective of his fellow Slytherins.

 

“And, that’s the lot,” Professor Lupin announced with a small smile and a relieved sigh before taking his seat.

 _And what a pathetic lot we are_ , Scorpius thought to himself.  Even if they all managed to survive the Dark Virus, he wasn’t very confident that they would survive being cooped up with each other. Albus, of course, was an exception. Scorpius could not think of a better friend with whom to ride out the storm.

“Hey,” Albus whispered and nudged Scorpius’ shoulder with his own, “I’m glad you stayed.”

“You’d better make it worthwhile,” Scorpius joked, wagging his eyebrows. 

Albus’ lips curved into a little smirk, and from that devious smile alone, Scorpius knew staying was already worthwhile.


	3. Chapter 3

_EVE OF QUARANTINE_

“This castle is in reverse quarantine,” Professor McGonagall announced in The Great Hall, “Hogwarts Castle must be impenetrable to pathogens from the outside. Nobody is to exit or enter without asking my permission, and passage will only be granted on an emergency basis.   Not even any deliveries.”

Lily muttered, more to herself than to the boy at her side, “As if The Cursed are going to knock politely and ask to be let in to feast on us…”

“What, my Lily Doll? Are we having a feast? I do love a feast,” said Lysander brightly.

Lily took Lysander’s sweet face in her hands and thought to herself as she sighed wistfully, _Oh, how lucky you are to be clueless._ But eventually, McGonagall had to tell everyone that they were defenseless against The Cursed. Right? How could she not? Would she really wait until the dead came a-knocking?

“I believe those fish and chips were our last feast, my Darling Ly,” she said, patting Lysander’s cheeks. “You heard McGonagall. Nobody leaves, and nobody gets in. No deliveries means no food deliveries. That means whatever’s in the pantry is what we’ve got, and I’m pretty sure the elves have already started rationing.” 

“Oh, dear,” Lysander frowned and sighed sadly, “I suppose that means no pudding.”

“I think it merely means you can have one instead of two,” Lily speculated.

“If we get pudding, you can have mine, Lily Doll. I want you to have two,” Lysander proposed.

 

Lysander really was the perfect boyfriend for her… if she were twelve. But Lily was sixteen, and though her experience gave her some perspective, she was not comfortable defining her relationship with Lysander.

Sometimes his innocence and his naivety were endearing – refreshing even, in a world full of arsehole fuck boys that only wanted to date Lily for the bragging rights of banging Harry Potter’s daughter - _The_ _Gryffindor Lioness_ , as she was referred to in conversations within boys dorms across all houses.

Lily wasn’t a man-eater. She resented the stupid patriarchal society of Hogwarts that had characterized her as such, simply because she liked sex and didn’t often do relationships. It had never been her goal to have boys for lunch, suck their bones, and spit them out. She just got bored easily.

Unlike most boys she’d casually dated or fell into bed with, Lysander’s motivations were pure. That’s not to say he didn’t want to fuck her. But Lysander at least wanted to make her happy… while fucking her. He really did love her, regardless of how deeply, or not, she felt for him. And for now, she _was_ happy. She had yet to grow bored of him, though his slow wit and simple mind often annoyed her more than amused her.

This time, Lily wasn’t annoyed that Lysander could only think of pudding when there were zombies eating people in London.   She could appreciate the uncomplicated world in which Lysander operated – the world in his immediate vicinity, within his own small sphere of influence, where zombie apocalypse was an unfathomable, intangible concept, where everything was lovely and nobody died.

 

Speaking of dying…

McGonagall was having a very grave talk with them all, regarding The Dark Virus – how deadly it was, how careful they all had to be to prevent it from entering their small population, how they were to recognize the signs that somebody was infected – all the things that Lily already knew, that Lysander really ought to be paying closer attention to.

“Each night, before bed, you will all shower at the same time, so that you may check each other for the telltale black veins,” The Headmistress announced, causing a confused grumble among the students. “The prefects’ bathrooms have been converted to communal showers. There will be one for the girls, one for the boys. If any of you require it, I shall be happy to make arrangements for a gender neutral shower area.”

“This is outrageous!” Bryce protested, “I won’t shower with other blokes! More than half of them are gay!”

“Just don’t drop the soap, Zabini, and you’ll be fine,” Scorpius joked. Albus snickered.  Lily tried not to laugh.

Professor McGonagall gave Scorpius a withering look and suggested to Bryce, “If you are uncomfortable being checked by your peers, you may arrange for a private inspection with myself or Professor Longbottom.”

Bryce shuddered. “No, that’s quite alright.”

McGonagall continued, “At the breakfast roll call, you are to declare yourself clear. Remain vigilant and observant throughout the day, so that you may declare yourself clear at the lunch and dinner roll call. If you find signs of the virus on yourself or another, report it to me or one of your professors and it will be dealt with swiftly.”

Lily wanted to ask what she had meant by _dealt with swiftly_ , but she was just so emotionally drained. She’d save it for tomorrow.

“For safety and containment purposes, all houses will dorm in Ravenclaw tower. Tonight, those not normally in Ravenclaw House will be dismissed to your own dorms to collect your things to be transferred. Move quickly. Curfew is promptly at eight and will be strictly enforced. Dismissed.” 

The room erupted once more into a din of protests and unanswered questions. Lily gaped at the Headmistress in shock. She really wasn’t going to tell them anything else! Not about the hundreds of thousands of unstoppable dead things coming for them or how the whole world had no idea how to handle them. “Are you fucking kidding me?! Have you nothing else to say to us, McGonagall?”

McGonagall wasn’t having any of it. “Miss Potter, your language is unacceptable. Report to me immediately after moving your things to Ravenclaw. All questions and concerns will be addressed in the morning. _DISMISSED._ ”

“Oh, Lily Doll,” Lysander lamented. “That sounds like it’ll be another detention for you, and no pudding tonight for anyone.”

Lily quickly shed her anger towards the Headmistress in favor of speaking sweetly to Lysander. “Hey, at least I’ll be sleeping in your dorm for the time being. There’s that.”

Lysander bit his lip coyly and gazed down bashfully at Lily from behind a low curtain of blond lashes. “Maybe we could meet in the common room after everyone falls asleep to, erm, you know… snuggle.”

Lily draped her arms over Lysander’s shoulders and nuzzled the tip of her nose against his as she purred, “I’ll do more than snuggle you if you’d like, Darling Ly.”

Lysander hummed his approval through smiling lips. “Mmm. I’d like that very much, Lily Doll.”

“MISS POTTER! MISTER SCAMANDER! I do believe you’ve been dismissed!”

Lily and Lysander both flinched at the Headmistress’ words and quickly separated. Lily glanced around and saw that the rest of the students were swiftly emptying from the already vacant-feeling Great Hall.

  

McGonagall’s shoulders seemed to slump uncharacteristically when Lily reported to her office. She spoke much more softly, with none of the stern impatience she showed in the Great Hall. “Lily. I understand that you might not agree with me. However, it is imperative to your safety, and the safety of everyone else, that you trust me.   I’m sorry that you and your brother are burdened with the knowledge of what’s really going on out there – it was not my decision to bring you into the fold.”

“As for the rest of your fellow classmates, well… I just don’t think they are ready for that knowledge. They must be prepared first, or they will panic out of fear. They will lose hope.” From the sharp way that McGonagall was now looking at Lily, she understood that her next words were directed specifically towards her. “They will be reckless and foolish and fall into harm’s way.”

Lily stared right back at the Headmistress, unblinkingly. “I’m sorry, Professor. I do trust you. It’s just really hard for me to stand by idly. I want to help – that’s all. And I’m sure everyone else would want to help too, if they knew.”

McGonagall reached across her desk, rested her thin fingers on Lily’s hand, and sighed. “You and your generation are so lucky to have such a pure and carefree childhood – you’ve never faced danger until now. Your parents and their parents were born into a dangerous world, in which death was a reality that had to be faced at a young age. Your father, for instance, had seen Death as a mere baby.”

“You are children born in the Era of Victory, a time of peace. Fear of death was never in your upbringing, nor was learning how to battle against evil. You were never prepared to face anything like The Dark Virus or The Cursed. And you all must be eased into this harsh reality while we still have the luxury of doing so, for it is more grave and terrible than the Death Eaters and dark wizards your parents had to face.”

Lily’s eyes fell. It was a lot to swallow.   McGonagall was right. A few months ago, killer viruses or cannibalistic zombies were something from fictional horror stories, and it was unfathomable that they would ever be a real threat. But the Headmistress’ sobering words did not change the way Lily felt.

“We may be thoroughly unprepared to face this. But we _must_ face it,” Lily insisted, “You told Albie and me that we were to arm ourselves and train to defend Hogwarts. I won’t wait for everyone to get used to the idea of Death before learning how to fight the dead.”

“You won’t have to wait,” said McGonagall, “Training starts tomorrow.”

 

 

Lily couldn’t sleep that night, not that she was trying very hard. After all, she had planned a rendezvous with Lysander. It wasn’t difficult to stay awake, waiting for the other girls to fall asleep. Her four-poster in the Ravenclaw girl’s dorms was uncomfortably firm, and she had never been good at falling asleep in strange beds anyway.

As she listened for her roommates to grow still and quiet, for their breaths to become long and evenly rhythmic, she thought about training. She wondered if they’d learn new protective spells, if they’d get serious about Defense Against The Dark Arts, if they’d practice dueling to quicken their wand skills.

Of course, Rose, as always, was the last to go to sleep. It was a whole half hour after Zenith had fallen asleep when Rose finally shut her lamp and put down her book. And then she dropped like a stone, snoring away peacefully within minutes.

Lily quietly slipped out of bed and crept out of the room, careful not to let the floorboards of the corridor creak as she snuck past the rooms in which McGonagall and Professor Patil were staying. Lysander was already in the common room when she arrived, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, with his back resting on a large ottoman. She sat herself astride his lap and noticed he was holding a biscuit in each hand.

“I stopped by the kitchens after dinner,” he said, “And you’re right. The elves are rationing the food. It’ll be fish again tomorrow because fish is always the first to turn foul – as in _spoiled_ , not as in _chicken_ , not that spontaneous transfiguration of fish to fowl is a thing, though maybe I could ask Professor Lupin about that.”

Lily laughed softly, not that Lysander was trying to be funny. She knew he was entirely serious about the possibility of a dead fish turning into a dead chicken. His peculiar way of thinking was sometimes quite amusing.

“But anyway, there’ll be pudding,” he said brightly, “We were dismissed before the biscuits could be put out tonight.” He handed her both of the biscuits. “Enjoy!”

Lily took only one. “Aren’t you the sweetest?” she said, then brought the cookie to Lysander’s mouth instead of her own. “I can’t enjoy myself unless you’re enjoying yourself too.”

Lysander bit demurely into the biscuit and then said, “I enjoy watching you enjoying yourself.” Then he fed the other biscuit to her.

Lily was not shy, and ate the whole biscuit in two bites, then licked the crumbs from Lysander’s fingers. She thought about eating the one in her hand, and if it were under better circumstances, she would’ve had no qualms about having a second cookie. But Lysander shouldn’t get used to this. He shouldn’t be allowed to sacrifice his share for Lily. She stared at the biscuit and imagined them starving after months of isolation in the castle – imagined Lysander giving her his rations as he wasted away.

“Go ahead, Lily Doll,” Lysander encouraged her. “I got both of them for you.”

Lily shook her head slowly and answered somberly, “No… It’s not right. You should have it.”

Lysander giggled and circled her waist with his arms. “It’s just a biscuit. I don’t need it.”

Lily stared into his bright eyes. They were so big and round, so full of wonder, like a baby’s.   His eyes made him appear much younger than sixteen.   She imagined what his eyes would look like after starving for a long time - sunken-in and shadowed.

“Are you quite alright, Lily Doll?” Lysander asked, snapping Lily out of her waking nightmare.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said distantly, emptily, “Just eat the fucking biscuit, Ly…”

Lysander did as he was told, quietly and with no joy, like a scolded child. Lily felt badly about it, but Lysander had to learn one way or another. Perhaps McGonagall _was_ right – maybe these kids weren’t ready for learning the truth about The Cursed – not when Lysander couldn’t even understand the gravity of something like food rationing when it was outlined for him clearly.

“Did the elves tell you how long the food is supposed to last us?” Lily asked.

“Bippy said they usually get a big delivery of fresh food once a week. Nonperishables get replenished as needed. They just got a delivery the other day, and it was supposed to last through the rest of the week if the whole school was here. But since it’s just us, they think it’ll last maybe a month. But things like milk and produce won’t stay good for that long.”

That didn’t sound good at all. “Maybe a _month_?” Lily repeated, shocked at how ill prepared they were for the long term.

Lysander narrowed his eyes in concentration and tapped a finger on his chin. “Maybe it wasn’t…”

“More than a month? Less than a month?” Lily asked impatiently.

Lysander glanced up, as if searching his brain. “Maybe it wasn’t Bippy who told me, but Franny. Or was it Dalton? That’s not to say that all elves look alike, because they don’t, but Bippy, Franny, and Dalton are all second cousins once removed and the similarity is astonishing.”

Lily took his head firmly between her hands and stared hard at him. “Lysander. Focus.”

“Oh, goodness, I’m trying,” Lysander whined, “It’s the ear shape – the three of them all have that same notch on the side and--”

“Not the bloody elves – the bloody food. How long did Bippy or Dippy or Floppy say the food is going to last us?”

“I can calculate that right now, actually. Give me a sec’.”

Lily did not doubt him. Lysander was remarkably thick in some respects, but he was a genius with numbers and could crunch them in his mind. She let go of his head and he closed his eyes. He seemed to go into a sort of trance as he whispered and mumbled.

“ _That’s twenty four, plus sixteen, times nine, so five-hundred-and-twenty-two, carry the one…”_

When he was finished, his eyes flashed open and he spoke with full confidence, “If we eat all the perishables first, starting with those that will expire the soonest, then all the nonperishables, interspersed with previously frozen perishables, over three meals a day, at the minimum recommended daily intake of 1000 calories per person, we should be good for four weeks and two days.” He caught his breath and then added with a bright smile, as if it was the only thing that mattered, “ _And we can still have pudding every day!_ ”

Perhaps it was _because_ there was very little else in Lysander’s mind, that he could store so many seemingly unimportant numbers, such as the stock and approximate caloric content of the Hogwarts pantry. Maybe it was magic.

Startled, Lily remarked, “Gods, you really are _special_ ,” unsure of how she meant it.

Bashfully, Lysander replied, “Lots of people tell me so, but you’re the only one that makes me feel it.”

Lily hadn’t the heart to tell him that most people thought he was special in the sense that he was odd. Not that it mattered to her or to Lysander what other people thought of him – and _that_ was the most endearing thing about Lysander above all else.

Lily pressed a smile against Lysander’s forehead and felt warm in her heart. “ _So_ special,” she whispered fondly. She knew she meant it in the best way.

“I love you, Lily Doll,” he whispered, and Lily knew he did not need her to reciprocate.

But maybe she could… maybe she _would_ … but maybe not tonight.

Instead, she’d make him feel special in other ways.

She summoned the throw blanket that was draped over the sofa to wrap herself and Lysander within it. They giggled as they shimmied out of their pajama bottoms while keeping the blanket around them, as if it were a game. Lysander was already hard before Lily touched him, and when she did, it didn’t take much stroking before he gently covered her hand with his and whispered _slower please, Lily Doll._

Lily blushed despite herself, embarrassed that she was so eager – so eager to please Lysander and prove to him that she was better than Albus. Not that Lysander ever required convincing. It was just Lily’s competitive nature.

 

It had taken Lysander a while to feel comfortable with the fact that he was dating his ex boyfriend’s sister, but not as long as it took Lily to get over it. Albus hadn’t cared, so Lily knew she wasn’t hurting her brother. But she couldn’t help feeling like she had something to prove to Lysander, and maybe to the world at large – that Lily Potter was just as good, if not better, than her male siblings.

  

Lily’s hand slowed to a languid, gentle rhythm and Lysander seemed to relax – to melt into her touch. At the back of her mind, she wondered if Albus was less aggressive and if Lysander liked his approach better than hers and it gave her that seething jealous feeling. Trying to one-up her brother wasn’t a healthy way to go about sex with Lysander and Lily knew it. Not to mention, thinking about Lysander getting it on with Albus was the ultimate turn-off.

“Everything alright, Lily Doll?” Lysander asked, looking genuinely concerned for her. He was so attentive to her that he could always tell when she was distracted. “If you’re not in the mood, we should stop.”

Maybe Lysander was more perfect for her than she had ever realized. If he were any other boy, he would have not recognized that Lily wasn’t enjoying herself, or if he had realized it, wouldn’t have cared enough to stop. 

Ironically, it was enough to get her in the mood. “I just need a little special attention,” she purred as she rested a hand on his shoulder and raised herself up so that Lysander’s lap was between her knees.

“Where would you like it?” Lysander asked coyly, but the sly glimmer in his blue eyes told Lily that he wasn’t as innocent as he let on.

Lily gently took Lysander by the hand and asked him, “May I show you?”

He nodded slowly and swallowed hard. He gazed up at her unblinkingly, not like a deer in the headlights, but like a mortal in the presence of a goddess. She watched his tongue dart out to lick his parted lips and saw how merely touching her bare thigh could make Lysander’s breath shorten. She guided his hand upwards, along the inside of her thigh, and Lysander knew what to do from there. Lily was relieved that she didn’t have to figuratively (and literally) hold his hand anymore – that she no longer had to teach him how to touch a woman.

When Lysander touched Lily, she could feel how much he loved her – how he savored the soft, wet, warmth of her – how he felt graced by the gift of her body when she splayed herself out on the floor for him – how the taste of her sex made him insatiable for her climax - how he could almost come, untouched, just from the way she tensed with anxious pleasure around his fingers.

And when she came, she could almost believe that she loved him the way he loved her. She caught herself just as she was about to say it and bit her lip hard through a stifled moan. Just because a boy knew how to make her come, didn’t mean he had earned her love. She was glad she hadn’t let the euphoria of orgasm cloud her mind, for if she had indeed told Lysander that she loved him, she would not have been sure that she had meant it, and would not be able to take it back – not without breaking Lysander’s heart. 

Lily did not want to ever see Lysander hurt. She at least knew _that._

 

She’d seen how devastated Lysander had been when Albus broke up with him last year. Lysander had fancied him for a long time, and Albus was presumably using this fact to get laid. It had always been clear to everyone, well, everyone other than Lysander, that Albus only ever had eyes for Scorpius. So it had come as a shock to Lysander when Albus finally told him that his feelings were not mutual. Lily wouldn’t be so cruel as to lead Lysander on like that.

So when they’d snogged at a party over the summer, she had told him right from the start – _this doesn’t necessarily mean anything._ Lysander was okay with that. Even when they went on dates, it still didn’t necessarily mean anything. And when Lysander had told Lily that he was in love with her, he did so only after telling her, _this doesn’t have to mean anything, but…_

Lily sat up from the floor, still riding that post-orgasmic high, and purred contentedly as she resumed her seat on Lysander’s lap, “That was brilliant.” She kissed him wetly and could taste herself on his mouth. Something about that gave her a tight feeling in her chest. She was leaving her indelible mark on him. And maybe she was just as cruel as her brother had been to make Lysander hers with no promises of reciprocity.

 

She could feel Lysander’s lips smiling against hers, his arms folding around her. “I love making you come. It makes me happy.”

She could feel he was still hard, perhaps achingly so. She wondered if he’d been holding out for her to come first. That level of attentiveness was unheard of amongst boys at school. To delay one’s orgasm to allow a girl to come first was probably akin to self-sacrifice for these boys, and not common courtesy. 

Lily slowly wound her hips and pressed herself against Lysander’s erection. “Do you want me to get you off, Darling Ly?” she asked, whispering breathily against Lysander’s parted lips.

“Please, Lily Doll,” Lysander groaned as if it pained him, as his hands found her hips to encourage that slow grind.

“Do you want to fuck me, Darling Ly?” she asked huskily, then teased the tip of her tongue against his bottom lip.

“I want…,” Lysander hesitated, seeming ashamed of his desires, “I want something you can’t give me…”

Lily paused and pulled back slowly to look him in the eyes. That tight feeling in her chest grew to a painful ache. Was this the part where Lysander would tell her that only Albus could have given him what he wanted? That he wanted what only another boy could give him? She was surprised at how much this hurt her – it wasn’t supposed to hurt this much when it didn’t mean anything.

“What do you want, Lysander?” she asked, all seduction and affection strangled out of her flat voice.

Lysander closed his eyes and took a cleansing breath. When he opened his eyes, they were fraught with pain as they gazed longingly at Lily. “I want to make love to you... And I want it to _mean_ something to you,” he whispered, as if it were the most grievous sin.

Lily felt her heart swell and then burst. What did it say about her that even Lysander – bright eyed and hopeful Lysander – did not think she was capable of returning his love? Maybe she really _was_ the coldhearted lioness who ate boys for lunch…

She rested her forehead on his and heaved a long resigned sigh. “I’m gonna go to bed, then. Unless you’ll settle for a hand job.”

Lysander sighed in return, his sounding much more forlorn and heartbroken. “It’s okay… Good night, Lily Doll. I love you no matter what.”


	4. Chapter 4

_EVE OF QUARANTINE_  

 

Albus never thought he’d see the inside of the prefects’ bathroom by any other means than those flouting school rules. He was just not prefect material. It was a place that could not possibly live up to the hype, especially when the hype had come from James Potter, who tended to exaggerate. Apparently, James had not exaggerated.

As Albus stood at the entrance, mouth gaping in awe, he remarked to Scorpius, “Fucking hell. If I’d really known how amazing the prefects’ bathroom was, I probably would’ve done a lot more arse kissing and a little less misbehaving. Who knew such luxury existed in the castle?”

The tile adorning the walls and floors was decadently ornate, enameled with gold leaf and opalescent blue glaze. Nine bronze showerheads, polished to a gleaming shine, emerged from the tile along three of the walls – a modification to create a communal space out of what had been a private bath.

Scorpius did not seem impressed. “It’s nice, I guess,” he muttered.

Knowing the ostentatious tastes of The Malfoys, Albus guessed his friend had been exposed to more opulently appointed bathrooms than that of the prefects’. But when Albus looked over at Scorpius, he did not seem jaded – he appeared to be terrified. Scorpius was clutching his bundle of towels and clothes like a little boy holding on to his teddy bear for dear life.

“Hey,” Albus whispered and nudged him gently on the shoulder. “You’re not feeling weird about this whole communal shower thing, are you?”

It was the only explanation Albus could think of, but it didn’t hold much weight. Scorpius was not the sort who was embarrassed by nudity. He remembered that it had been Scorpius’ idea when they’d gone skinny-dipping in the lake.

Scorpius replied, poorly feigning blitheness, “If this was muggle gay porn about an all-boys school, and believe it or not, I’ve seen some, now would be the part when they have a massive orgy in the showers. Excuse me if I’m feeling a little performance anxiety.”

Albus chuckled, and from the way Scorpius laughed wryly, Albus knew his friend’s statement must have been intended as a joke, at least in part. Perhaps there was some truth to _performance anxiety_.

And then it dawned on him why Scorpius would be anxious about the prospect of using a communal shower – the whole reason why mandatory group showers had been instated - Inspection for signs of The Dark Virus.

“You’ve nothing to worry about, Scor. You’ve spent the whole semester up in the castle – you weren’t exposed to the virus.”

Scorpius narrowed his eyes with confusion, staring questioningly for a long moment, and then hastily agreed, “Oh. Right. The virus. Yeah. Those spider veins. Kind of paranoid about getting cleared and stuff.” He did not sound very convincing.

 

When Lysander arrived with his brother, it was Albus’ turn to feel awkward. Lorcan had never been shy about telling his twin to stay as far away from Albus as possible, and this instance was no exception.

“You’ll stay on the complete opposite side of the bathroom from Potter. Is that understood, Ly?”

Albus wanted to be angry with Lorcan for being ridiculous, not to mention for being such a controlling brute towards his twin. But Albus had learned to accept all the shit that had come in the wake of his break up with Lysander. Albus _deserved_ all that shit. Hell, he even deserved the insult of Lysander moving on to his sister. Albus knew he had screwed up royally with Lysander – he was sorry, and he knew he’d have to pay for it for a long time. So Albus held his tongue, rather than say anything to Lorcan or Lysander.

Scorpius, however, felt insulted on behalf of his best friend. “Fucking get over it,” Scorpius muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes at Lorcan as he moved past. Then he mumbled to Albus, “You’d think Lorcan was the one who’d been on your dick, not Lysander.”

Lorcan hadn’t missed a thing. He was up in Scorpius’ face in seconds, posturing for a fight. “You got something to say to me, rich boy? Say it to my face, you fucking snake.”

Lysander feebly tried to talk his brother down. “Lor, it’s cool. Really, it’s cool.”

Scorpius wasn’t one to stand down from a fight, though he was not very good at the physical aspect of fighting. He just couldn’t let anything go, and would not let anyone intimidate him, which meant Scorpius got his arse kicked more than was probably necessary.

“Oh it is _not_ cool,” Scorpius said, indignantly, “What do you think Albus is going to do if Lysander gets too close, hm? Suck him off and break his bleeding heart again, in front of everybody no less?”

 _Wow._ Albus knew Scorpius was just standing up for him, but _ouch_. That was harsh. Albus had never meant to break Lysander’s heart. He had just been too much of a coward and too much of a horny teenager to end things before they had gotten too far.

Just then, Bryce showed up and got behind Albus and Scorpius to improve the odds, for Albus and Scorpius against giant Lorcan could hardly be considered two against one. “You have a problem with my gay friends, Scamander? Afraid they’ll turn your brother gay again?”

Albus could only let his face fall into his palm. Bryce was not helping. Now was not the time to school his friend about what it meant to be pansexual. But at least Bryce’s astoundingly ignorant logic had effectively distracted Lorcan. In fact, Homophobic Bryce calling-out Lorcan on supposed homophobia astounded everyone in the room.

Insulted on his brother’s behalf, Lorcan scrunched up his face and asked, “What the fuck do you mean by _gay again_ , Zabini? That’s not how it works.”

Hugo and Louis arrived with Professor Longbottom, just in time to prevent the most awkward bathroom brawl in the history of awkward bathroom brawls, several of which Albus and Scorpius had been the catalyst.

“Gentlemen, please!” Neville insisted firmly, exasperated by the boys’ poor behavior so early in their ordeal, “If we can’t be civil about this, then you’ll just have to submit to private inspections by a professor.”

All of the boys jumped away from each other with their palms facing out in surrender, each of them firmly asserting their displeasure surrounding that prospect. _No!_

“Good. Now hit the showers, all of you,” Neville commanded. “If you can inspect each other, it’ll save both you and me the humiliation of doing it.”

 

As soon as Neville left them to it, Bryce suggested with a determined nod, “Let’s divide the showers into a gay side and a straight side.” He gestured with his hand, bisecting the large space in two.

“ _Bryce_ ,” Albus reprimanded his friend tersely. “That’s the most insulting thing that’s ever come out of your mouth, and that is saying a lot.”

“I’m not trying to be a dick, Al,” Bryce insisted, sounding affronted by the fact that Albus was insulted, “I’m suggesting it for the comfort of everyone involved. I’m sure I’m not alone when I say I’d rather be inspected by a straight bloke than a gay bloke.”

Albus took a slow, cleansing breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from losing his head. He tried to explain calmly. “Bryce. When you look at girls – _any_ sort of girls – do you automatically check them out, determine their fuckability, and proceed to try to fuck them, regardless of their disinterest in fucking you? No, right?”

“Albus, allow me to introduce you to Bryce Zabini,” Scorpius interjected facetiously, “Apparently, you’ve never met before.”

Bryce scoffed, “I’m not like that, mate. You know me. Don’t insinuate that I’m some kind of creep.”

Albus annunciated slowly, emphasizing his words to drive his point home, “Then don’t insinuate that _I_ am that kind of creep. Or that _Scor_ or _Lysander_ are that kind of creep.” 

Louis signed with his hands, _or me_.

Albus responded in kind with a thoroughly shocked, _seriously?_

Louis shrugged coolly and signed, _I haven’t decided. Labels don’t suit me. But I don’t think I’m straight._

Bryce watched the whole exchange with bitter confusion. “I hate when you guys do that.”

“No worries, Bryce. They’re just plotting your death,” Scorpius joked, feigning a weary sigh, “Always plotting someone’s death, those Weasleys and Potters…”

Albus fabricated, “Louis is just suggesting that he inspect you if you’re uncomfortable with me or Scor or Lysander doing it.” He smiled too brightly and too tightly.

Of course, Louis could read Albus’ lips and signed, _You’re a jerk, cousin_ , as he smirked. Albus knew Louis was amused.

It had been a convincing enough suggestion for Bryce.

 

Everyone took a position beneath a bronze showerhead and set their things on the ledge above. Scorpius headed quickly towards the shower next to Hugo, but Lorcan took it before Scorpius could, and Lysander took the one on Lorcan’s other side, leaving Scorpius to take the one on the opposite wall, next to Albus, to avoid annoying Bryce. Albus was only mildly offended that his best friend hadn’t automatically gone to the shower next to him.

“Scor, let’s be quick about this, yeah?” Albus hastened to shed his bathrobe and turned on the shower. If he had any hope of getting Scorpius alone to tell him about what had been discussed in the private meeting, he had to rush through inspection and shower.

Scorpius nodded emphatically, perhaps a bit stiffly, and clutched the ties of his bathrobe.

Albus turned his back to Scorpius. “Check my back and stuff. I can inspect my front, obviously.”

He heard a quiet, startled, breath come from Scorpius.

Albus spun around quickly with wide eyes, just as Scorpius was turning away. “Oh my gods, did you see something?” Albus asked in alarm.

Scorpius seemed to be making a very concerted effort to not look at Albus. “No. Nothing. You’re clear. Clear as day. I did not see anything at all.” Scorpius was avoiding eye contact and still wearing his bathrobe.

Albus eyed him suspiciously. “You sure? You were maybe a bit too quick with that. Check me for real, Scor.”

Scorpius sighed and relented grudgingly, “Fine. Turn around again.”

Albus stood once more with his back to Scorpius, beneath the spray of the shower. He took the opportunity to wet his hair, so as not to waste any more time.

“Godric be damned, I hate quidditch. I hate it, hate it, hate it,” Scorpius mumbled, but it sounded like these words were not intended for Albus’ ears, “I hate what it does to a person’s body.” 

Albus suspected that Scorpius was voicing some sort of misplaced envy. Albus never thought of himself as particularly fit, but compared to Scorpius, who was not athletically inclined, perhaps Albus could be considered more muscular. If that was the case, Scorpius was selling himself short, as he often did.

“Are you done?” Albus asked, raking his fingers through his long fringe to get his wet hair out of his face.

Scorpius continued to mutter to himself, “I hate what quidditch does to arms, and shoulders, and… _oh_ _gods_ …” He heaved a shuddering sigh.

“Scor. Would you focus and just bloody tell me if I’m clear?” Albus insisted impatiently, feeling unduly scrutinized.

“Done. Did it. Ages ago,” Scorpius answered stiffly, “I checked you out. Er, I mean, I checked you. Clear.”

“Cheers. Now, you.” Albus turned to find Scorpius was _still_ wearing his bathrobe. “Are you bloody taking the piss? Stop being so weird and just get naked, would you? It’s not a big deal.”

Scorpius still couldn’t seem to make eye contact and swiftly pivoted before shrugging awkwardly out of his bathrobe. 

And then Albus’ heart stopped. His breath caught in his throat. He’d seen Scorpius without his clothes before, if only just a brief flash in the dark of night. He’d never seen Scorpius properly naked like _this_.

Albus had never seen Scorpius in the flesh long enough to appreciate his smooth marble skin, or his delicately sinuous lines of muscle, or the regal angles of his shoulders - like that of a statue of a young, lithe Eros, minus the wings.

Albus had always thought Scorpius was beautiful, but seeing him like this – so vulnerable and bare and _perfect_ \- was startling. He felt his cheeks flush with color and warmth. He felt his pulse start to race. He felt his own muscles begin to tense as his eyes followed the elegant curve of Scorpius’ spine, down to the swell of his bottom, and _Godric be damned_ , how did Albus never notice that arse before?

Albus mentally smacked himself in the face for objectifying his best friend so unabashedly.

“Godric be damned?” Scorpius repeated amusedly as he peered back at Albus over his own shoulder. 

Apparently, Albus had voiced his appreciation of Scorpius’ arse out loud, and perhaps even moaned it, judging from the way that Scorpius was smirking at him.

Albus quickly averted his gaze to scrub his arms almost violently with soap and replied, “Nothing. You’re clear.”

 

Albus couldn’t help but sneak furtive glances at his friend. It was impossible _not_ to look.

He watched Scorpius as he seemed to relax, all his apprehensiveness falling away as he lathered up his body beneath the spray of hot water.

Even at a sneaky glance, Albus could appreciate the soft, subtle lines of Scorpius’ abdomen as he slicked it with soap. Albus swallowed hard as he realized his own body was beginning to show appreciation for Scorpius’ soft, subtle lines. Scorpius glistened as soapsuds ran down his skin, catching in the downy, golden hair that was spread sparsely over his body, gleaming and wet. And what hung between those legs… Albus had to bite his lip to keep from groaning reverently.

Albus hadn’t realized he had actually been _overtly_ staring until Scorpius spoke.

“You don’t have to keep inspecting me,” he said, not sounding put-off in the least. In fact, he sounded rather pleased with himself. “But if you insist…”

And then the bastard bent over at the waist to slick his legs with soap and smirked the most deliciously devious smirk there ever was while glancing up knowingly at Albus.

And _oh my gods_ , Albus was being _that kind of creep,_ and Scorpius _noticed_. But Scorpius didn’t seem to care, which meant… Albus wasn’t prepared to think too deeply about what that meant.

He forced himself to look away and hurriedly finished his shower, making it a decidedly cold one.

  

Albus and Scorpius were in their pajamas and in their room well before the other boys came in for bed. They sequestered themselves behind the curtains of Albus’ newly claimed Ravenclaw four-poster to talk privately.

Sitting with his legs folded, mirroring Scorpius’ position on the bed, Albus began somberly, “My family had a meeting with McGonagall today.”

Scorpius gave a quiet gasp. “Oh no. Are you being expelled once classes resume? Shit, if I’d known that the prank in Herbology with the cannabis plant was expulsion-level, I wouldn’t have let you take the blame.”

Albus chuckled. He’d almost forgotten about that time the entire class “accidentally” grew pot. “I owed you one for taking the blame after we got caught with fire whiskey on the train.”

Still not convinced, Scorpius replied, “Yeah, but I only got detention for a week. I didn’t get _expelled_. Do you want me to ask my father to talk to McGonagall?”

“Calm your tits, Scor. I’m not getting expelled,” Albus reassured his friend.

“Oh thank Godric.” Scorpius clutched his chest and exhaled with relief. “I don’t know how I’d survive the rest of seventh year without you.” 

Albus couldn’t help but smile at that, if only briefly.

Then his expression turned grave again when he began revealing the hard truth to his best friend. “After what my parents and Jamie told me, I don’t think the rest of seventh year will happen. Ever. Not for us; not for anyone.”

Scorpius blinked swiftly the way he always did when he was nervous. “You’re scaring me, Albie.”

“You should be scared,” Albus replied, parroting McGonagall’s words, but with empathy in his voice. He took Scorpius’ hand. It was not an unusually intimate expression of their special friendship. “It’s bad out there… worse than what they’re reporting in the papers. Worse than what people are saying.”

Albus told Scorpius everything – how neither the wizards nor the muggles had any clue about how to cure The Dark Virus, how The Cursed were growing in number, how nobody knew how to stop the dead that were rising and eating people, how dark magic could be bringing upon the zombie apocalypse, and how the true severity of the situation was kept a secret to prevent widespread panic. All the while, Scorpius remained uncharacteristically silent.

 

“We’re on our own out here, Scor,” Albus said sadly.

Scorpius raised his eyes to the canopy of the bed to keep from crying – even in the wake of this news, Scorpius was still trying to appear unaffected and blithe. “Well, fuck me… This is not how I pictured the end of the world. Not that I ever really pictured it. But if I had, I would not have guessed it would come in our lifetime, or that we’d literally eat each other. I don’t mean _me_ eating _you_ or vice versa, because I’d rather die before it ever got to that point. But if I had to be eaten by somebody, I guess I’d rather _you_ cannibalize me than any of these arseholes. And if I end up eating you, then I apologize in advance. Though, could you really blame me? You’re by far the most edible person here – not that I’m thinking about eating you, because I’m not, but…”

Scorpius tended to ramble when he was nervous or upset. Albus knew Scorpius could have kept talking all night just to keep his emotions at bay. He wouldn’t allow his friend to do that. This was not something one should keep bottled inside.

“Scor, shut up,” Albus said, not unkindly, as he gently pulled him in for a hug.

Scorpius relented and fell apart in Albus’ arms, sobbing quietly with his face buried in his chest. “Fucking Hell. We are all going to die.”

Albus, never one to hold back his emotions or his tears, especially in front of Scorpius, allowed himself another good cry – he’d done it a fair amount today already, without the consolation of his best friend, and he found that he still had some emotion that needed to come out. And it actually felt comforting to share his sorrow and hopelessness with Scorpius.

By the time the tears subsided, Albus and Scorpius were lying side by side with their hands joined between them, like they used to do when they were younger, before having a boyfriend had made lying in bed with one’s best mate feel a little wrong. But now that Albus no longer had a boyfriend, the return to fraternal affection was natural, for their friendship had always been an intimate one – much more intimate than any friendship Albus had seen or experienced.

 

Scorpius spoke and broke the comfortable silence between them. “I can’t believe your dad, knowing what he knows, let my parents leave without me. I _know_ them, and they’re going to die alone - My dad, in the manor, with a cigarette in his mouth, complaining about his suit getting ruined, and my mum, in the townhouse, martini in hand, so steeped in gin she’ll probably be preserved after death like a pickle. The prettiest pickled zombie there ever was…” He trailed off morosely.

Albus replied, sarcasm coloring his voice, “Oh, but Harry Potter will save them. Harry Potter can fix this and your parents will live to smoke another cigarette and drink another martini. Harry Potter can do _anything_.”

Scorpius sighed. “No offense, but I’m not putting my faith in your dad to save us from the zombie apocalypse. I’m kind of glad we’re here with McGonagall. ‘Cause I’ve read _Hogwarts: A Recent History_ and she’s kind of a badass.”

“I don’t know, mate,” Albus began skeptically, “When The Cursed come for us, I’m ducking behind Professor Longbottom. The Cursed can’t be killed with magic, but Neville can swing a sword.”

As if on cue, the door to the dorm room creaked open and Professor Longbottom’s voice sailed through. “Albus, Scorpius, are you in here?” When Albus and Scorpius popped out from behind the curtains of the bed, Professor Longbottom only gave slight pause before announcing, “Eight o’clock curfew. You can still hang about the common room, though. I’m just making sure everybody’s in before I lock and ward the doors to Ravenclaw tower.”

“Locked and warded, hm? Guess there’s no chance in Hell for a midnight snack,” Scorpius remarked.

Professor Longbottom gave both he and Albus a slightly disapproving look, “I hope you two weren’t planning on any after-hours shenanigans.” Neville had often pretended not to notice their shenanigans. Nobody liked calling out their friends’ kids on their bad behavior, especially when those friends were Harry and Ginny Potter.

Albus pretended to be offended. “Who, us? We’d never.” For once, they really weren’t planning on any after-hours shenanigans.

Scorpius overly clarified, “I meant midnight snacking on _us_ … by The Cursed… as in, zombies coming into the castle looking for brains to munch on.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Professor Longbottom reassured him, if a bit dismissively. “The entire perimeter of the castle is warded. If anybody or anything goes through the wards, we’ll know. The alarm sound is quite annoying. I know, because I created it myself.”

Scorpius smiled stiffly. “Lovely. At least we’ll get a warning before the zombies come to eat our brains. Good to know.”

Professor Longbottom rolled his eyes. He likely thought Scorpius was just being his usual sarcastic self. “Nobody’s eating brains, Scorpius. Go to bed. You’ve clearly had too much excitement for one day.”

Scorpius responded tersely with another pained grin, “Clearly.”

“Breakfast roll call is at eight in the morning. Sleep well, boys.” Then Professor Longbottom closed the door.

Scorpius turned to Albus and sharply raised an eyebrow. “I am _not_ sleeping well tonight.”

Albus mumbled, “If it’ll make you feel better, you can sleep with me, Scor. It’s cool,” trying to play off the suggestion as a casual one.

But the idea of sharing a bed with Scorpius sounded really good to him right then – not in a _creep-in-the-showers_ kind of way. But in the way that sleeping next to a warm, comforting friend had always sounded good at the end of a particularly bad day.

  

Ever since halfway through first year, Albus’ bed had been open to his friend on nights when the stress of adjusting to life in a hostile environment (for a Malfoy, at least) had been particularly draining. Or on nights when the dark cloud of being a Potter in Slytherin had rained down too hard over Albus’ head. Sharing a bed had made those harsh first couple of years at school bearable. Because nobody understood Albus the way Scorpius did. Nobody else really knew what it felt like to carry a surname like a curse.

  

“Cheers. You’re the best,” said Scorpius, relief evident in the way his shoulders seemed to relax.

It was much too early to actually go to sleep. The rest of the boys hadn’t even retired to the room yet. But Scorpius pulled back the covers of Albus’ bed and nestled himself beneath them, and all Albus wanted was to nestle himself beneath _Scorpius_. Albus preemptively admonished himself in his head before getting into bed. _Don’t be a creep. He’s your best mate, for fuck’s sake._

Easier said than done, and Scorpius only made it harder. More _difficult_ , Albus thought – not _harder_. He really did not fancy popping an erection while sharing a bed with Scorpius. But Scorpius wanted to be close. Close enough that he was snuggled up against Albus’ side. Close enough that Albus could feel Scorpius’ soft, warm breath on his cheek. Close enough to kiss, had Albus dared to turn his head to the side. Close enough that Albus could precisely imagine the lines of Scorpius’ naked body beneath his pajamas by the way his angles fit themselves into Albus’ body.

When Scorpius took Albus’ hand and laced their fingers together over Albus’ chest, surely Scorpius must have felt the way he made Albus’ heart race. And if he had felt the galloping rhythm of his heart, then surely he must have felt Albus’ heart stop when he sleepily whispered, “There is no person I’d rather be with at the end of the world than you, Albie.”

Albus fought the urge to connect his lips with Scorpius’. He wasn’t sure how Scorpius would react. And he also wasn’t sure there would be any going back if they strayed off the path of friendship and went down the same road he’d gone with Lysander. Albus could not risk losing his best friend. He’d already broken someone’s heart because he was horny – he would hate himself if he ever did that to Scorpius.

_Don’t be a creep. He’s your best mate, for fuck’s sake._

“Thanks for staying, Scor,” Albus said earnestly, “I know you didn’t have to. And I’m glad you did. I don’t think I could get through this without my best mate.”

Scorpius responded, “Of course, I stayed. _Wither thou goest, I shall go. Wherever thou lodgest, I shall lodge._ ”

“Shakespeare?” Albus guessed, knowing his friend’s fondness for muggle literature.

“The Bible, actually,” Scorpius corrected. “One of the most epic muggle stories ever.”

Albus narrowed his eyes skeptically. “You actually read the muggle bible?”

“No,” Scorpius admitted, “But that passage is in this song my Uncle Theo used to sing to me when I was little.”

Albus knew that Scorpius’ Uncle Theo was not in fact his uncle by blood, but his father’s boyfriend of many years, who had influenced Scorpius’ passion for muggle music and literature.

Albus was not one for reading, but he did share Scorpius’ love of muggle music. “Oh, right,” he said softly with realization, “That Leonard Cohen song.”

  

It had been a long time since Albus had heard the song – not since he and Scorpius were fourteen. It had been a lullaby for Scorpius until he had long outgrown lullabies – a song that Theo had used to embarrass Scorpius with every time Albus slept over at Malfoy Manor. And though Scorpius would rush his uncle out of his room, mid song, Albus liked hearing him sing. He could still remember the simple tune.

  

Together, Albus and Scorpius sang, “ _Wither thou goest, I will go. Wherever thou lodgest, I shall lodge. Thy people shall be my people, my love. Wither thou goest, I will go._ ”

When Albus turned his head to look at Scorpius, he met blue eyes that were as luminous as stars in the darkness – eyes that looked upon him with trust and admiration, that never judged him or expected more from him than he could give, that knew him from the inside out.

Then Albus began to feel it again – that fluttery, warm feeling in his chest that only Scorpius could elicit. That feeling soon became tight and suffocating, for he understood what was happening, and he was afraid of where it would go.

Albus was falling in love with his best friend.


	5. Chapter 5

_DAY 1 OF QUARANTINE_

Scorpius found himself in the most peculiar position, standing in the Great Hall with his feet far enough apart to make his inner thighs hurt, one arm stretched in front of him, and one arm stretched behind him. He looked absolutely ridiculous. Everyone should have looked equally ridiculous in the same strained pose, but Scorpius found that some of his fellow classmates were managing with much more grace.

“Eyes straight ahead. Focus on your own body, Scorpius,” said Professor Patil, more encouragingly than admonishingly. She bent Scorpius’ hands at the wrist to shape him into the proper form, with the fingers of one hand pointing up, and the other pointing down. “Keep those fingers together tightly. Center your energy.”

Part of Scorpius looked like he was dramatically trying to stop an oncoming force, while the other part… well, it just looked stupid. When Patil moved on to correct Lysander’s pose, which was all sorts of wrong, Scorpius felt less ridiculous about his own half-right pose.

But not much less ridiculous. Scorpius understood that the regular Hogwarts curriculum was not very useful during this time of crisis. But, _Tai chi_? Scorpius failed to see the benefit of painfully slow exercises and agonizing poses.

“You will learn to center your energy upon your core,” Professor Patil instructed the whole class, gesturing at Zenith’s straight torso. Zenith was standing near the front of the class in perfect form with ballerina-like grace. “You will learn to get in touch with your body,” said Patil, trying to impart some sort of motivation with her words.

Scorpius muttered, just loudly enough for Albus to hear, “I don’t need a lesson on how to get in touch with my body. I’ve been getting in touch with it since puberty.”

Albus snorted quietly, and Scorpius flashed him a wry grin.

“You will learn to balance opposite forces within yourself,” Professor Patil continued, “ _Yin_ and _Yang_ , as in the Chinese philosophy of complementary duality – the dark and the light, the hard and the soft. And when you are able to find that balance, you will be able to draw upon the appropriate type of power to counteract an external opposing force.”

This was more bogus than Professor Patil’s Divination classes, Scorpius thought. No amount of _harnessing one’s cosmic energy_ was going to help them not die in the zombie apocalypse.

Professor Patil now stood in front of the class, modeling the movements like a dancer. “Slowly pull your arms toward your core, toward your central energy. Once you reach your center, switch the position of your arms and reposition your hands accordingly.” 

“What the _fuck_?” Scorpius hissed quietly, brow furrowed in confusion. He had never been particularly coordinated. Although he liked to dance, he had always danced in a free-form style, as opposed to moving in a precise and controlled manner – the manner in which he was required to move in Tai Chi. 

Scorpius glanced around the room, wondering if everyone else was having as much trouble as he. Zenith was once again following Professor Patil’s example flawlessly. Albus was also managing quite well, as was his sister, which had not been surprising, considering the Potter family legacy of athleticism. Even Hugo had gotten the hang of it.

Scorpius was about to give up completely when he turned and saw Lysander fall over like an upended sapling. Scorpius chuckled, earning him a deadly glare from Lorcan. Scorpius wasn’t usually one to laugh at someone’s inadequacies. But this was Lysander, and Scorpius delighted in seeing him fall, both figuratively and literally.

Lily helped her boyfriend to his feet as Professor Patil urged them to focus on their center of power to stabilize their bodies, or something like that. And Scorpius began to wonder if this whole exercise was all a ploy to keep everyone’s minds off the potential of an outbreak of The Dark Virus or an attack of The Cursed.

 

Mrs. Longbottom, who never had much of a presence at Hogwarts before, led the next lesson. Apparently, she was a champion archer, who had won many trophies over the years, and was a remarkably patient teacher. Once again, the students were asked to employ discipline and focus, this time, in possession of a bow and arrow. At least this skill was one that Scorpius was sure could be used against zombies, provided one could actually master it.

After a half hour of getting acquainted with wielding just the bow, Mrs. Longbottom allowed them to practice putting an arrow to the bow, albeit soft-tipped practice arrows. And not until they were all in some semblance of proper form, did Mrs. Longbottom let them shoot – aimlessly at first, just to get a feel for trajectory and momentum.

“Focus on your body,” Mrs. Longbottom instructed.

“Really? This again?” Scorpius mumbled to himself. Focusing on one’s body seemed to be the running theme of the day.

“Feel the lines you make.  The line from the top of your head to your chin.  The line from your shoulder to your thumb.  The line from your elbow to your fingers.  I want to see _straight_ lines."

"Merlin help me.   _Straight_ is not something I'm capable of being," Scorpius half joked.

But somehow, this sort of coordination felt more natural to Scorpius than Tai Chi. There was something about the tangible bow and arrow that helped him visualize and execute what his body had to do.  He was anxious to try it out on an actual target.

With the assistance of Professor Longbottom and Professor Lupin, Mrs. Longbottom brought into The Great Hall three scarecrows on which to take aim.

“You’re sure to ace this, Albie,” Scorpius remarked as they all queued up in three lines to take turns shooting.

“What makes you say that?” Albus asked as he notched his rubber-tipped arrow into the bow and pulled back.

“You’re a Chaser,” Scorpius explained, “Your aim is flawless.”

Lily scoffed, “His aim’s alright. He still hasn’t won a quidditch game against me.”

“Well, his aim is better than mine, at least,” Scorpius said.

Albus’ arrow hit his scarecrow in the chest. Lily’s arrow sailed over the scarecrow’s head, taking the little felt hat along with it – probably not her intention, but still a decent shot. To nobody’s surprise at all, Bryce, Superstar Slytherin Seeker, hit the target precisely in the eye. 

Next up, were Rose, Lorcan, and Scorpius.

Rose’s arrow hit the floor and bounced back at her as soon as she let it loose, prompting the neat queues of students to duck and cover – rubber tips or not, the arrows could still put an eye out. Completely unfazed by her failed attempt, Rose quickly retreated to the back of the queue, pulled out a tiny paperback book from her pocket, and resumed reading it.

Lorcan flashed a deathly stare at Scorpius before taking aim at the target, as if to say, _this one’s for you_. Lorcan pulled back the string of the bow so hard that it bent enough to break. And though no arrow had been launched, Scorpius had still been mildly intimidated by Lorcan’s show of brute strength.

Then Scorpius notched his arrow and inhaled slowly as he pulled back on the bow, mindful of his lines, just as Mrs. Longbottom had instructed.   He put the target in his line of sight and let loose his arrow, not expecting it to do much of anything but fall onto the stone floor, short of the target. To his utter surprise, the arrow sunk into the loosely bunched straw of the scarecrow’s forehead, right between the eyes.

“Nice one, Scor!” Albus remarked, excitedly clapping Scorpius on the back.

Scorpius beamed and felt his cheeks flush. _Beginner’s luck_ , he thought to himself. But each turn he took, arrow after arrow hit the target - not always in the same place, but still striking the scarecrow. Scorpius was actually enjoying this! He loved the adrenaline rush of accomplishment every time he hit his mark, and the warm glow it would give him each time Albus praised him.

“You’re kind of amazing, Scor,” Albus told him at the end of the lesson.

From the gleam in Albus’ green eyes, Scorpius wondered if his friend had meant it beyond archery, and that made him feel even more warm and fuzzy inside than the compliment should have warranted, eliciting a deep, conspicuous blush.

 

Scorpius’ winning streak ended after lunch, when Professor Longbottom introduced swords. Yes, swords – genuine, steel, heavy, sharp swords – huge ones that required two hands to heft, lithe pointy ones that looked both elegant and deadly, and short ones that looked like they could be concealed on one’s person. Of course, Professor Longbottom did not dare allow the students to actually use them. Not yet, at least.

“Erm… why swords?” Lysander asked, seemingly out of pure interest.

“Well, er… you know. Just in case,” Professor Longbottom answered vaguely. 

“In case of _what,_ exactly?” Lysander pressed, appearing genuinely curious, and not the least bit skeptical. 

“In case of… emergency,” Longbottom replied cryptically.

Lysander was still not satisfied. “What _sort_ of emergency?”

“In case of zombies!” Scorpius blurted out, irritated by Lysander’s thick-headedness.

Lysander looked appalled, his huge blue eyes appearing even larger than normal. He shook his head vehemently and said, “I’m morally opposed to putting a sword in The Cursed.” 

Professor Longbottom sighed wearily. “It’s just a precaution.” 

Bryce entered the argument, quite astutely pointing out, “If we had to use a sword on The Cursed, that would mean they’d be close enough to stab, which means they’d have to come all the way from the closest city, break through the wards, and attack us. This seems like a highly improbable emergency to prepare for.”

Exasperated, Professor Longbottom threw his hands up and said, “Well, would you rather I teach you Herbology? Because I can, you know.”

A handful of students gasped at the prospect of returning to lessons as usual. Scorpius was not among them. Though he was not really all that keen on embarrassing himself with a sword, he also knew that the likelihood of him having to take up a sword against The Cursed was greater than what Bryce had assumed.

After a long and thorough lecture about the differences between the types of swords and the nuances of their varying uses (which had actually appealed to Scorpius intellectually), Professor Longbottom distributed wooden swords for practice. Though they were not yet allowed to practice sparring, it was still apparent who among them were the capable ones. As was expected, Lorcan and Lily, who were very adept quidditch beaters, were quite agile with the practice swords – wooden swords weren’t much different from beater’s bats, after all.

No longer surprisingly, Zenith emerged again as star of the class, executing each swing and jab of the sword exactly as Professor Longbottom had demonstrated. Zenith was apparently a trained, skilled fencer. Scorpius would be lying if he said he wasn't the least bit jealous of how adept Zenith was at, well, every bloody thing. If Scorpius did admit his jealousy, he would never attribute it to the fact that Albus seemed to be following Zenith's example as a model, and then he'd only be half lying. For the first time in Scorpius’ life, he regret that he had quit fencing soon after his father, an experienced fencer himself, had introduced him to the sport at the age of nine.

  

It had been an exhausting first day of what Scorpius could only describe as _Zombie Combat Basic Training_ , though none of his instructors had dared to call it that – not even an allusion to using these skills on The Cursed had been uttered. Scorpius knew that, soon enough, the rest of the students would catch on – they were not as safe at Hogwarts as they had been led to believe, and needed to learn how to defend themselves in the likely event of an attack.

But Scorpius understood why McGonagall and the professors didn’t want to address that likelihood head-on. That semblance of safety in the castle, and that trust in the Ministry’s ability to contain the threat, were the only shreds of hope the other students had to cling to. Knowing the truth, Scorpius had _nothing_ left to cling to…Other than Albus, that is.

  

And, _Merlin_ , did he cling! Already, he and Albus had been as intimate as two friends could reasonably be while still maintaining that there was nothing more between them. Now Scorpius' need to be in constant physical contact with Albus was becoming desperate. It went beyond seeking comfort from his best friend. Scorpius _craved_ Albus’ touch, be it Albus’ hand on his shoulder, Albus’ arm hooked into his elbow, or their fingers laced together. He sought out these intimate platonic gestures while secretly wondering what it would be like if Albus touched him in the distinctly non-platonic manner.

He dreamed of what Albus’ hands would feel like, gliding over his bare skin. He thought of the lines Albus’ touch would make, like the lines he’d been conscious of in archery lessons. The line from the top of his head to his chin, as Albus’ fingers raked through his hair and wandered down to clasp his chin to hold him still for a kiss. The line across his back, as Albus’ lips tasted him from one shoulder to the other. He imagined Albus’ lines coalescing with his own as their bodies joined.

But this sort of touching was not something Scorpius wanted to pursue outside of his own sexual fantasies. Because he knew Albus was rubbish at relationships. Scorpius couldn’t reasonably expect anything more from him than maybe a blowjob between friends. And being friends-with-benefits was not something Scorpius’ heart could handle. He wasn’t the sort to just give himself up to anybody – he wanted it to be special and he wanted it to be in the context of a relationship, not just a casual hook up. Perhaps that was why Scorpius was still a virgin in every sense – not for lack of boys in his social sphere with whom to mess around, but a lack of boys who were boyfriend material.

Scorpius wasn’t sure he could handle another night of surreptitiously watching Albus in the shower, pretending to be jealous of his subtly athletic physique while chasing away thoughts of putting his hands all over said naked, wet, subtly athletic physique. And if he caught Albus clandestinely checking him out again, Scorpius didn’t trust himself to refrain from inviting more lustful attention. Because it felt really good just to be _wanted_.

And even if he and Albus could get through another shower together while still ignoring their obvious physical attraction to one another, Scorpius didn’t think he could sleep next to Albus again without waking up with his arms around his friend, sporting a conspicuous erection.

 

 _Oh, the perils of being best friends with the hottest boy in the school!_ Scorpius lamented to himself in his own head, sighing heavily as Albus draped his arm over Scorpius’ shoulders and walked him back to Ravenclaw Tower after dinner.

“You look tired,” Albus remarked, concerned. 

Scorpius gave a self-depreciating snort. “Yeah, well, this is the most physical activity I’ve had to do since…,” Scorpius paused to think about it, weighing today’s exertion with the time he attempted to train for quidditch try-outs.

“Since _ever_?” Albus jibed.

Scorpius laughed and nodded. “Pretty much.” He tilted his head to the side, away from Albus’, in an attempt to stretch out a tight knot in his neck.

Recognizing Scorpius’ discomfort, Albus’ massaged the back of his neck, unprompted. “Feeling tense here?” 

“Mm-hm,” Scorpius admitted, though he would never admit that some of that tension was sexual.

But he soon regretted allowing Albus to touch him this way, for the gentle pressure of Albus’ fingertips working their way into his muscles felt much too good to be prudent. He felt Albus’ touch in places where his fingers were not. And suddenly, he was quite aware of the energy centered upon his core – more aware than he had been during Tai Chi.

“ _Fuck…_ ,” Scorpius swore, perhaps groaning more rapturously than he had intended.

Albus stilled his fingers on the back of Scorpius’ neck and asked, “Do you want me to stop? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Scorpius closed his eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. Of course he didn’t want Albus to stop touching him. But he also didn’t want Albus to hurt him. And he knew that, eventually, that’s where all this touching would lead.

“Yeah, you should stop,” Scorpius whispered, not bitter, but forlorn.


	6. Chapter 6

 

_DAY 7 OF QUARANTINE_

“Tighter, Lily. You’re much too loose,” said Professor Patil, demonstratively waving her wand in precise swirls and strokes, “More like this.”

 

Gently, Teddy explained, “If you weave the spells together tightly, you won’t have gaps in the wards. Each time the spells are repeated in the same place, the wards are reinforced and strengthened. If you’re just filling gaps, those areas are weaker than the rest of the reinforced spell chains.”

 

It made sense, but Lily hated being told that she wasn’t doing something perfectly, even when she was truly being sloppy.

 

Every night before curfew, the students took turns helping the professors reinforce the wards that encased Hogwarts grounds in a twenty-foot tall invisible barrier. There was a lot of ground to cover, and Lily just wanted to get it over with so she could collapse into bed. Doubtful that magical barricades were effective at keeping out zombies, putting up wards against The Cursed seemed like a waste of time to Lily, since magic did not work on the creatures. Even if The Cursed set off the alarms on the wards, it would likely be too late to escape.

 

But, whatever helped everyone sleep at night…

 

Lily huffed impatiently as she continued to rush through the chain of spells, earning her a more vehement reproach from Professor Patil.

 

“Lily, you’re all over the place. Come on, now,” she admonished Lily. “Focus your energy on tightening your chains.”

 

Bitterly, Lily muttered, “I thought I’m supposed to focus my energy upon my core,” mocking Professor Patil’s own teachings.

 

Rose, who was working nearby, snickered quietly.

 

Professor Patil put her hand on her hip and pierced Lily with a scathing glare. “You think I’m batty, don’t you? You think this is all bollocks, as you’re always so fond of saying.”

 

Lily, never one to be respectful of teachers who hadn’t earned her respect, had no qualms about being honest. “Well, yeah. Can you blame me? You’re teaching us bloody meditation when there are zombies out there eating people. What good is Tai Chi going to do against The Cursed?”

 

Professor Patil set her jaw. She seemed to be gathering all her strength in order to keep from going off. Perhaps she was _centering her energy_. “What good is Tai Chi?” she repeated, sounding utterly offended by Lily’s doubts. “Let me demonstrate.” She gestured at Teddy to summon him closer. “Lupin. Come at me, bro’. Come at me hard.”

 

Teddy approached her gingerly. “You mean like… attack you?”

 

“Try to hit me,” Professor Patil egged him on, “Don’t be shy about it, just take a swing at me.”

 

At this point, both Lily and Rose were watching Professor Patil as if she were positively insane.

 

Teddy shook his head and said, “Oh gods, I can’t hit a woman.” But Patil was so insistent that refusing probably would have incurred her wrath, as evident in the death-glare she was giving him. So he made a half-arsed attempt at hitting her, which was more of a gentle swat than an attack.

 

Before Teddy’s hand could land on her shoulder, Professor Patil took his arm, twisted it behind his back, and shoved him to his knees. It was like something out of the muggle movies that Lily’s dad sometimes liked to watch on the television. Still, Lily refused to look as impressed as she truly was, giving only an amused snort.

 

Noticing that Lily still needed to be convinced, Professor Patil helped Teddy off the ground and said, “Try to hit me for real this time, Lupin.”

 

“But I don’t want--” Teddy began meekly.

 

“You won’t hurt me,” Professor Patil cut him off, insisting, “I’m tougher than you think.”

 

“I don’t want you to hurt _me_ ,” Teddy clarified as he backed away slowly.

 

“Let’s go, Parvati,” said Professor Longbottom, rising to the challenge playfully.

 

He took a genuine swing at her, but she blocked it with a quick movement of her arm. She then kicked out her leg, only to stop just short of putting her foot through his face, causing Neville to flinch initially. But then Neville countered her kick with an arm around Patil’s leg. She did a sort of somersault to free herself of Neville’s grasp, then swept her leg across the ground to trip him.

 

“Oh shit,” Neville remarked hoarsely from his prone position on the floor, sounding winded from the impact on the ground.

 

Professor Patil smirked as she stood with her fists at the ready. “Language, Professor Longbottom,” she admonished jokingly.

 

“Fuck it, Minerva’s not around,” said Neville, slowly recovering to a sitting position.

 

Lily was ridiculously impressed now and didn’t bother hiding it. “Fucking Hell, that was brilliant, Professor Patil! I want you to teach me how to do _that_ ,” she said.

 

Professor Patil gave her a knowing grin. “I already have.” She made the same motions with her arms and legs, but she slowed them down to a snail’s pace, and it looked very much like what Lily had been learning in Tai Chi lessons.

 

Lily gasped and clapped her hands. “Merlin’s pants! That’s wicked! Why didn’t you tell us that you’re not only a clairvoyant, but also a martial arts expert? I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

 

“Martial arts expert, perhaps,” Professor Patil admitted with a humble shrug. “But clairvoyant? No.”

 

Rose was aghast. “You’re teaching Divination, and you’re not even clairvoyant?”

 

Professor Patil explained, “Divination isn’t just about seeing visions and making prophecies. It is about close observation of all the little details, interpreting signs, and looking for evidence that change is coming. It’s something everyone can do. Anyway, I’m more of a medium than a clairvoyant. I can sense energies. I don’t explicitly see what’s coming, but I am attuned to the signs.”

 

Rose and Lily both nodded with understanding. Lily had a newfound respect for Professor Patil, and she suspected that Rose might also be rethinking her dismissal of the professor as a mystical quack.

 

 

As they resumed their work on the wards, Rose spoke quietly to Lily. “It would’ve been helpful if our parents told us that we’d be under the care of people skilled in combative arts rather than just dumping us at the school with the poor excuse that they had to go to work.”

 

Lily agreed. “Yeah. Maybe I would’ve felt better about being left here if I’d known Professor Patil could predict when the zombies would come and then have the power to kick all of their dead arses.” Lily began to understand that leaving her and her brother here was a more calculated decision on her parents’ part than she had originally assumed.

 

 

As they continued to reinforce the wards, Lily’s mind couldn’t help wandering off again. But this time, her poor focus on menial tasks resulted in an idea.

 

“Professor Patil, you said you can see what’s coming by looking for signs. What if… we _all_ look for signs? What if we take turns patrolling the grounds? Looking out from the towers? We’d know what’s coming before it hit us.”

 

“That’s a really good idea, actually,” Professor Patil admitted. The other two professors concurred.

 

 

 

_DAY 8 OF QUARANTINE_

 

“Ly, not now,” said Lily, not unkindly, as Lysander came up from behind her and swept her long ponytail over her shoulder, exposing the back of her neck to drop a soft kiss below her ear.

 

“Please, Lily Doll?” He folded his arms around her and keened softly like a needy kitten. Then he pointed out melodically, “We’re at the top of the astronomy tower,” as if it had the same connotation as standing beneath a sprig of mistletoe. His breath was warm against Lily’s skin as he spoke between kisses. “We haven’t had a moment alone all day. Pretty please with chocolate sauce and a cherry on top?”

 

“Mmm, that sounds good,” Lily purred as she let her eyes close to the sensation of Lysander’s wet lips closing over the side of her neck.

 

“What does? Snogging at the top of the astronomy tower, or chocolate sauce and a cherry on top?” Lysander asked. Lily knew him well enough to recognize that he was genuinely asking. If it were any other boy, she would have interpreted it as a come-on. But Lysander was not any other boy.

 

“Snogging you with chocolate sauce and a cherry on top,” Lily replied smoothly, despite her sense of duty. They were supposed to be finishing up their first patrol of the castle.

 

She turned in Lysander’s arms and slipped her hands into his cloak in search of his warmth. He shuddered slightly when her fingers crept under the front of his jumper to find his abdomen. The temperature was dropping with the setting sun, yet it was not so cold that they couldn’t keep warm by sharing body heat.

 

“How about we do a quick visual sweep from up here first? Then we can see if the elves can spare some chocolate sauce and cherries,” Lily suggested.

 

Lysander nodded in agreement then looked out over the astronomy tower parapet. “What are we looking for exactly?”

 

“Professor Patil said we should familiarize ourselves with the ordinary so that we can recognize when something is out of the ordinary,” Lily reminded him as she turned to survey the castle below.

 

Everything was still and quiet and eerily beautiful. The stars were beginning to reveal themselves in the darkening sky as orange dusk quickly melted into deep blue. It had never been this silent at Hogwarts before. There had always been a low chatter, a distant ruckus, a low din, for the castle had always been alive – filled with people and creatures and lively ghosts.

 

And now, it was so profoundly quiet that Lily could feel how very alone they were, and how far removed they were from the chaos of The Dark Virus in distant cities. She could feel the gravity of their utter aloneness at the pit of her stomach. But she would never deign to call that feeling _fear_.

 

Lysander gave a small gasp and squeezed Lily’s shoulder. “Do you hear that?” he whispered.

 

Lily gave a startled gasp of her own before holding her breath to listen.

 

“Oh goodness, could it be?” Lysander whispered again in astonishment.

 

“What?” Lily hissed, now on high alert, scanning the shadows on the pathways and bridges below. “What is it?”

 

“Listen,” Lysander whispered sibilantly. Lily glanced behind to find that he was smiling with his eyes closed. He slowly raised his arm and pointed. “It’s coming from the Forbidden Forest. Oh, how glorious.”

 

Lily faced out over the parapet and strained to hear anything other than the gentle wind. There was a very faint sound coming vaguely from the darkness of the woods. It sounded somewhat like a bleating animal. “Is it dangerous?” she asked.

 

“Merlin, no,” Lysander chuckled softly. “It’s beautiful.” He seemed to be enraptured by the sound, which was barely a sound at all to Lily’s ears. As he explained, his eyes remained closed, and his hands cupped behind his ears to catch the noise on the wind. “The satyrs are breeding. It happens once every four or five years, depending on environmental conditions. The males are calling out to find females. It’s a very distinct song, quite different from any of their others, and quite lovely.”

 

Lily would hardly call it lovely. To her, it sounded like farm animals complaining. But she was not about raise her doubts to Lysander, considering he had descended from a long line of magizoologists. Instead, she remarked wryly, “Satyrs only have sex once every four or five years? Sucks to be satyr.”

 

Lysander giggled and lowered his hands from his ears. “No, silly. Satyrs have loads of sex. In fact, if you happen upon a satyr in the forest, nine times out of ten, you’ll find them engaging in social copulation.”

 

Lily was perplexed. Perplexed about several things, but nevertheless fascinated. There were things that Lysander understood about magical creatures that even Professor Faulkner did not seem to know. She’d always been impressed when Lysander shared with her emergent discoveries gleaned from his parents’ fieldwork. But it always took a bit of wheedling to get Lysander to fill in the gaps between his spotty logic. And right now, Lysander seemed to assume that the bizarre mating habits of satyrs were common knowledge, which they most certainly were not.

 

Lily turned to face Lysander and asked, “If they have loads of sex, why don’t we hear that funny sound all the time then? Why only every four years?”

 

“They only make that sound when they’re seeking other satyrs to mate with,” he replied matter-of-factly.

 

“But you said they’re constantly shagging,” said Lily, not trying to contradict him, but instead trying to find the key fact that Lysander had not found necessary to explain.

 

“Yes,” he simply said with a smile.

 

Lily’s open mouth hovered on the right question to ask in order to solve Lysander’s satyr puzzle. “Okay, erm… Satyrs are always fucking. But they don’t always make that mating call. How do they find each other to constantly fuck if they only make that noise every four years?”

 

Lysander looked at Lily with sincere pity and sighed, “Oh, Lily Doll… I see why you’re confused.” He bit the corner of his bottom lip coyly, seeming hesitant to explain. “Sex is all the same to you. To you, all sex is _fucking._ ” He did not say this with any malice or bitterness. He simply stated it as fact – a fact that Lysander seemed to find quite sad.

 

Lily should not have been as offended as she was, for she was beginning to understand what Lysander was trying to say. She pouted slightly and mumbled defensively, “I get it. I’m not a complete idiot. There are different kinds of sex.”

 

Lysander smiled. He seemed happy that Lily might have been coming around to his way of thinking. “Precisely. Just like humans do, satyrs have different kinds of sex, and each kind has a different purpose. There’s sex for the purpose of producing offspring, which satyrs only do when environmental conditions are ideal, and that happens to be every four to five years. The males call out to the females to mate – to breed.”

 

“But then there’s social copulation. When a satyr comes upon another satyr outside their blood family, they alleviate tension and create new relationships through a kind of social copulation called _rutting_. Rutting happens between two males, between two females, between a male and a female, or in groups of several satyrs. I guess it’s kind of like how humans _fuck_. It’s casual sex for pleasure with no strong attachments.”

 

“Then there’s a kind of social copulation called _runnelling_. Satyrs runnel to strengthen existing bonds – to achieve closeness and build lasting trust. They’re not monogamous, but Satyrs that runnel are likely to mate with each other over consecutive mating seasons and form tight polygamous groups. Runnelling is kind of like how humans--”

 

“Make love,” Lily interjected softly.

 

Lysander nodded and glanced at Lily shyly. “You get it. I guess you always did, but…” he trailed off and let his gaze fall sadly.

 

They were both quiet for a long, heavy moment, both knowing that this discussion of sexual behavior of satyrs could turn into an uncomfortable conversation about their own relationship, or rather, their lack thereof. Lily didn’t like to see Lysander looking so forlorn. She wasn’t usually one to crack corny jokes, but she just could not resist the pun that was to be had.

 

“When you told me you were pansexual, I didn’t know that you literally meant _Pan_ ,” Lily said, her delivery only weakly humorous.

 

Lysander gave her a confused look. “Didn’t I explain what it meant? I thought I had. It means--”

 

“I know what it means.” Lily cut him off and rolled her eyes, more at herself than at Lysander. “It means you don’t limit yourself in what you find attractive. All gender expressions and sexualities are game. I was referring to your vast knowledge of satyr sex. Get it? Pan? Satyr? Pansexual?”

 

Lysander blinked slowly, still looking utterly perplexed.

 

Lily giggled and gently took Lysander’s face in her hands. “Never mind. I should leave the comedy to Albie and Jamie.” She pecked him on the lips and declared, “I think we’re done patrolling.”

 

Lysander grinned. “Shall we go down to the kitchens?”

 

 

Sadly, the elves had no chocolate sauce to spare. Lily and Lysander had only managed to come away with a small handful of cherries, for the elves had been reluctant to give them any food before dinner was served. Lysander was so dear to the elves that they had made a small exception for him. Lily and Lysander ran from the kitchens with their secret boon in their pockets, giggling gleefully up to Gryffindor Tower in hopes of finding some privacy.

 

 

Lily felt like she and Lysander were small children again, sneaking sweet things from the kitchen at The Burrow while Gran, Dad, Auntie Angie and Auntie Luna – the best cooks of the family – prepared enormous holiday feasts. Lily remembered hiding under the big wooden table with Lysander, stuffing chocolate chips and morsels of fruit in their mouths, unwilling to share their stolen goods with the other children. Lily now understood that Lysander had not been selfish like she had been. Lysander had simply wanted to share something special with Lily, and Lily alone.

 

 

Lysander dangled an attached pair of cherries before Lily’s eyes, snapping her out of her wistful memories. “You get first choice, Lily Doll,” he offered.

 

Lily smirked. She knew that Lysander probably meant for her to take one cherry. But the visual seduction she could achieve with two cherries was too delightful to pass up. She tilted her head back and positioned herself so that the cherries were dangling above her open mouth. She slowly closed her lips around the pair of cherries, mouthing them wetly without biting them, in a vulgar allusion to what she could do to Lysander’s similarly shaped body parts. When Lysander gave a shuddering exhale, her smirk darkened.

 

“That looks _so_ good,” he remarked. Lily knew he wasn’t entirely referring to the fruits.

 

Lily finally took one cherry into her mouth and snapped it from its stem. Lysander obviously didn’t care that the other cherry had been in Lily’s mouth and promptly partook of it.

 

They were seated on her old bed in the Gryffindor dorms. Lily moved to straddle Lysander’s lap to feed him another pair of cherries from her pocket. He fervently gave them the same treatment that she had, using his tongue in a deliciously lewd manner. Lily felt warmth blossom between her legs as she thought about Lysander servicing a pair of balls and taking a nice cock in his mouth. She was surprised by how much the thought had pleased her.

 

“Mmm, you’re good at that,” she purred.

 

As soon as she wondered about how Lysander became so skilled, she shuddered with disgust and inwardly cursed her stupid brother for ruining everything – even her very intimate fantasies of Lysander. She dropped the cherries suddenly, nearly choking Lysander. Lysander spit them out and giggled.

 

“Not as good as you, apparently,” he said.

 

Lily couldn’t help but laugh. “I’d teach you some tricks, but then I’d be afraid of losing you to some bloke.” She was joking, but not entirely. With someone like Lysander, who often did not pick up on sarcasm, the joke would be lost, and Lily immediately regret what she had said.

 

“Lily Doll,” Lysander whined sadly and frowned.

 

Lily tried to brush it aside, but the damage had already been done. “I was just kidding. Forget I said anything.”

 

But Lysander likely knew that what Lily had intended to be a joke had stemmed from her very real insecurities. He pocketed the cherries and held Lily close. “You could never lose me. I love you,” he cooed.

 

Lily mumbled, ashamed of her feelings but unable to hide them anymore, “You love me, but you also love cock. I get it.” When she spoke, she wasn’t bitter. She was just honest in a pure, unfiltered way, just like Lysander always was. “Hey, I love cock too and it’s great that we have that in common. But I don’t have one, obviously, so I’ll never be able to give you everything that you want.”

 

Lysander pulled away slightly to allow their eyes to meet. His eyes were somehow both sad and hopeful at the same time, glistening blue and bright in the light cast from the fireplace.   “Lily Doll, does that upset you?”

 

Lily pouted slightly and gave a small nod.

 

“Please don’t be upset,” he pleaded softly as he pulled her back into his embrace. He sighed sadly. “We humans would be so much happier if we stopped pretending that we’re so different from all the other creatures of the earth. If we just followed our feelings and our instincts and our desires instead of forcing ourselves to conform to what’s supposed to be normal, humans wouldn’t have so many problems.”

 

“You mean… if we could be like satyrs and have sex in all sorts of ways with all sorts of people?” Lily mused.

 

“Yes. Exactly,” Lysander breathed out, both relieved and excited that she was beginning to understand. “We’re not so different from satyrs.”

 

But Lily was not quite sure how this pertained to them. Lysander’s philosophy seemed to contradict what Lily thought he wanted. “So, we should have sex with whomever we want, whenever we want, how ever we want, when the mood strikes us?”

 

Lysander looked honestly horrified. “What? Is that what you thought I meant? Oh, gods, no!”

 

Lily put her hands up in exasperation. “Okay, I’m lost. Completely lost. What do you want? I don’t just mean for the good of humanity, but for us. For you and me.”

 

Lysander furrowed his brow. He seemed to be thinking long and hard about it, perhaps a bit too hard, for his eyes were starting to become glassy with impending tears. Finally he said, speaking tentatively at first, perhaps so as not to upset Lily, “I want to be with you, Lily. I know you don’t do relationships. But I think it’s because you only know one kind of relationship. And I think if you opened your mind and your heart to other kinds of relationships… maybe you’d like to be in one… with me... because I know it means something when we’re together like this, even though you say it doesn’t. I feel it.”

 

Lysander’s eyes were so innocent and sweet in that moment, and full of the purest form of love that could be had. Lily put her arms around him and gently nuzzled the tip of his nose with hers. “You mean so much to me. I want to be with you too. But I don’t want to hurt you, my Darling Ly.”

 

“You won’t hurt me if you are open with me,” Lysander said softly, “If we’re open with each other. Monogamy isn’t the only way to be in a relationship.”

 

 _Monogamy isn’t the only way to be in a relationship…_ It was the most beautiful revelation. Suddenly, Lily understood that they could be together in a deep and meaningful relationship while still having casual sex with other people. She had never known that was even an option.

 

Lily gently peppered his lips with kisses as she spoke, cupping his cheek in her hand. “So maybe we can, erm, what do you call it - _runnel_ with each other? And if I happen upon a nice bloke with a nice cock, I can get into a bit of _rutting_ with him? And maybe, if you’re keen on him too, you could get into a bit of _rutting_ with him as well?”

 

“Sure,” Lysander smiled against her lips. “Anything. I’m open to all the possibilities. I’m yours, no matter what.”

 

Lily felt lightness in her heart that she hadn’t felt before. Ironically, she felt freer now that she was entering a relationship than when she had insisted that Lysander didn’t mean anything to her. She threaded her fingers into his hair and kissed him more firmly. “I love you, Darling Ly,” she declared, “I’m yours.” She did not doubt that she meant it. “I’m _yours_.”

 

“Oh gods, I love you so much, Lily Doll,” Lysander cried softly, his pretty face beaming with joy.

 

Lily kissed the tears from his cheek, savoring the brine of his skin, relishing the power she wielded with her love – the power to make him cry, to make him smile, to make him come. Her love did not make her weak. It did not make her less of a strong woman or less of a Gryffindor lioness. It made her invincible, and with her beautiful Lysander by her side, she was stronger than ever.

 

When they kissed, it felt new. She felt their love coming together to fill her with warmth and happiness, and she couldn’t stop laughing giddily between kisses. When they threw their clothes off in a frenzy of giggles and stolen kisses, she felt carefree in a way that she had not felt since they were little. She was reminded of a time when they were ten-years-old, wrestling on the beach nearly naked, their wet skin sliding together, so intimately close without worrying about any connotations.

 

Now, their intimacy was steeped with meaning, but Lily no longer worried about what it meant. She welcomed the implications of love in the way they touched each other hungrily, kissed each other ravenously. Free from her old hang-ups, Lily could now fully accept the power of their physical connection.

 

When Lysander eased himself inside of her, Lily could feel herself succumbing to the truth and beauty of their love with every inch he gave her. Nestled deeply within her, she could feel his magic fuse with hers, growing stronger and hotter and more potent. This wasn’t just making love – this was mutual empowerment. And it was _fucking brilliant_.

 

She knew Lysander felt it too. With every slow, careful, blissfully deep thrust, he would press himself inside her to the hilt, eager to be as close to her as possible, desperate to feel that unified euphoria between them. Every moan was an offering of love to the divine goddess that was his Lily Doll, every sigh was a wordless plea for more from her Darling Ly.

 

He moved to a seated position and Lily sat upon him, sinking down sweetly on Lysander’s exquisite cock. He pulled the ribbon from her hair and let loose volumes of red in which to tangle his lithe fingers.

 

Lily followed suit, raking a hand through the sweaty, blond strands of his long fringe to reveal the whole of his pretty face. She held that familiar face in her hands and saw that it was wet with not just perspiration, but with tears. She understood that all this emotion must have been terribly overwhelming to Lysander.

 

“You okay Ly?” she asked quietly with concern. “If it’s too much we can stop.”

 

Lysander smiled. “It’s not too much. It’s perfect.”

 

“ _We_ are perfect,” Lily asserted with a kiss.

 

“We are,” Lysander concurred.


	7. Chapter 7

_DAY 29 OF QUARANTINE_

  

Zenith’s lace-gloved hand rested delicately on Bryce’s forearm as they walked along the path through the courtyard. It was eerily silent. No birds could be heard. The _click clack_ of Zenith’s boots on the stone was the only sound, interspersed every few steps by her closed parasol tapping the pavers. The two of them looked every bit like a lady going for a stroll with her gentleman friend on a crisp afternoon.

But this was not the case.

However closely they walked, Bryce was not Zenith’s beau. Not yet. He’d been courting her relentlessly ever since they were quarantined at Hogwarts. She had still not decided if she wanted to permit Bryce any licenses beyond escorting her by the arm wherever they went, including on patrol, as they were now.  

Zenith was not a stupid girl – she knew what Bryce was capable of. He had entered seventh year Hogwarts with a trail of summer flings in his wake, leaving girls deflowered and heartbroken at every turn of his holiday travels.

He’d insisted that this was different. That Zenith was exceptional. Of course she was – she was not typical of the girls her age, who took a casual approach to relationships and sexuality. Though Zenith would not consider herself puritanical or prudish, she did have very high standards. Any boy who wanted more from her than idle flirtation, had to earn it with manners and proper courtship.

Though propriety ruled Zenith’s head, her heart could not help but be swayed, for Bryce was charming and classically attractive – tall, dark, and handsome. And when they reached the owlery, one of the buildings on their patrol route, she did not evade his advances when he gently backed her into a wall and came close enough to kiss. His lips were full and round and beautiful, and the thought of them pressed against hers made her blush.

As much as she wanted Bryce to kiss her, she was still a lady above all else, and this boy had not yet earned this prize. She swiftly raised her closed parasol like a sword – its modified tip sharpened to a weaponized point – and rested it on Bryce’s shoulder. He glanced at the parasol, not threatened, but amused. 

“Mister Zabini. Have I given you the impression that I want you this close to me?” Zenith asked, not unkindly, flashing a comely smile.

“You have, Miss Smith,” Bryce replied, smiling that dazzling grin of his. “But I’m not the sort of creep that expects anything from a girl, even when all the signs say she wants it.”

“Is that so?” Zenith raised an eyebrow. Though Bryce’s declaration told her that he knew the rules of consent, there was still a lingering predatory edge to his words that left Zenith wary.

“Come on, Zenith,” Bryce pleaded impatiently. “You know me. I’ve been so good for weeks.”

“I do know you, Mister Zabini. And that’s why my kiss will continue to allude you until you can prove to me that you’re a reformed man.”

Bryce’s face changed. He looked quite affronted. “I know I have a reputation. People think I’m a man-slut or something. People say I’ll screw any and every girl that gives me half a chance. But it’s not what I’m after.”

“Is it not?” Zenith questioned skeptically. “Why just the other day, Miss Rose told me she heard you tell Scorpius, and I quote, _I need to get laid before I go batty_. And that, quote, _even Professor Patil is looking good right now_.”

Flustered by being called-out, Bryce spluttered and huffed, “I didn’t… I’d never… Rose is just a lying little--”

Zenith cut him off curtly. “Watch yourself, Mister Zabini. Choose your words carefully. Because your words have consequences. As do your actions. And both stay with you… forever.” 

She spun on her heel, letting her parasol drop from Bryce’s shoulder, her head held high. She heard Bryce huff behind her and retreat down the owlery steps.

She strut toward the other end of the owlery to look for her own little long-whiskered owlet. She stopped short when she realized that something was amiss. The eerie silence of Hogwarts had even extended to this place, normally abuzz with hoots and screeches.

She turned in a slow circle, gazing at all the empty cubby holes that were usually occupied by owls. Even when considering that most of the students and staff had left Hogwarts with their owls in tow, there still should have been a few owls remaining. But there were none, save for a single, poor snowy owl that lay dead and mangled on the feather-strewn, blood-splattered owlery floor. 

“Mister Zabini,” she called out, intending on sharing this alarming finding with her patrol partner. When he did not answer, she went to the window.

But before she could call Bryce back to the owlery, a hand grabbed her by the back of the neck from behind, accompanied by a hollow snarl. She screamed and reached behind her to pry her assailant’s deathly cold fingers from her neck. She felt teeth on the bare skin of her wrist, between where her gloves ended and her sleeve began.

She screamed again, this time with horrified dread, as she wrenched her arm out of her assailant’s mouth. “No!”

Zenith whirled around to find one of The Cursed. She was in too much shock to fully react to the gruesomeness of the creature that stood before her – a man wearing bloodied muggle clothing, his grey skin hanging loosely on his skeletal face, his teeth gnashing ravenously. She struck the Cursed thing with the sharpened end of her parasol, puncturing its skull right between the eyes. When it did not fall, she kicked out hard with her heeled boot, sending the creature stumbling backward.

From over her shoulder, came an arrow. It sunk itself into the Cursed One’s chest. She spun around to find Bryce, bow in hand. They did not pause to acknowledge what had just happened, or to ensure that they’d stopped the Cursed One’s pursuit, and instead hastened down the owlery stairs.

Bryce took Zenith’s arm as they ran toward the main building of the castle, but she snapped out of his grasp. She appreciated his chivalry, but at the moment, she was at a heightened state of panic.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Bryce asked as they ran.

Zenith pulled the lace cuff of her sleeve down and shoved her hand into the pocket of her billowing cloak. “I’m fine.”

“I’m so sorry I left you. I’m so selfish,” Bryce lamented earnestly, “Oh gods, that thing could have…”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Zenith insisted, much less genteelly than she was oft to.

Bryce continued to moan remorsefully. “I’m such an arsehole. If I hadn’t tried to kiss you…”

Zenith grabbed Bryce by the arm to stop him from running. They stood staring at one another, breathless, horrified, chests heaving, pupils blown-out with fear. And in that moment, Zenith knew there was no use for propriety or manners or high standards. She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed Bryce on the cheek gently.

Even when she pulled away, Bryce stood there, stunned. Zenith took several steps backward, unable to fully savor the love-struck look on Bryce’s face. She knew the kiss and the potential it held were fleeting for so many reasons, the least concerning of which being Bryce’s philandering. She turned, and kept on running into the castle.

  

_MEANWHILE…_

Albus unhooked the quiver of arrows from his shoulder and let it fall onto the coffee table in the Slytherin common room with a loud clatter, followed by his bow. He dropped into the green leather sofa with a weary sigh and watched Scorpius diligently search every dark corner of the room, as was expected of them on patrol. 

“Why do we even bother anymore?” Albus complained. “We never find anything out of the ordinary. It’s the same boring old empty castle, day in and day out.”

“Because there’s fuck-all else to do other than train and patrol. Train and patrol. Train and patrol,” Scorpius said monotonously to match his thoughts on the matter. He plopped down on the sofa next to Albus and gave a final, tired, “Train and patrol.” He shrugged out of the shoulder straps of his quiver and carefully set his bow and arrows down on the table. “I’m hungry,” Scorpius declared.

“You’re always hungry,” Albus remarked with an amused little chuckle. He reached into the pocket of his robes to retrieve a rather dry-looking carrot and offered it to Scorpius.

Scorpius eyed the slightly desiccated carrot guardedly and joked, “Is that a wrinkly carrot in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Albus snorted a laugh. Scorpius smiled, but still didn’t take the carrot.

“It’s not that I’m a glutton or anything,” Scorpius explained, “I’m hungry all the time because they don’t bloody feed us enough.”

“We should be restocking our food supply instead of patrolling,” Albus grumbled before taking a tentative bite of the dry carrot. “So gross,” he said as he forced himself to chew and swallow. He shoved the carrot back into his pocket for later. “Well, if you get desperate, I’ve got it right here for you in my robes.”

Scorpius replied in an overdramatic seductive drawl, “Are we talking about your carrot, or are we talking about _your carrot_.” Scorpius reclined and rested his arm across the back of the sofa, which placed Albus in slightly more intimate proximity to him. He wagged his eyebrows, which told Albus that he was joking.

Albus chuckled, but the innuendo still made him blush. And because they’d been flirting and exchanging innuendo for weeks, Albus intoned smoothly in turn, “Well, it depends on how desperate you are.” He giggled, just to let Scorpius know that _he_ knew they were still joking.

But Scorpius turned serious. “Desperation has nothing to do with it.”

Albus gave his friend a confused, worried look. He had a feeling this wasn’t about carrots anymore.

Scorpius stared vaguely at the lake through the window, perhaps unwilling to meet Albus’ eyes as he explained, “If somebody really likes carrots, they don’t have to be desperate to eat them. They’ll just do it because they fancy them. It has nothing to do with desperation. Even if carrots were the last food available, that wouldn’t change things. They’d still fancy carrots and want to eat them.”

Scorpius was definitely not talking about carrots. He turned to look at Albus and there was something curious about his expression – something familiar gleaming in his silver blue eyes. There was unmistakable longing in his stare - longing that seemed to be causing him inner turmoil.

Albus suddenly felt his face go hot all the way to his ears and hoped with all of his heart that Scorpius was just as tired as he was of pretending. Tired of acting like this amount of intimacy and flirtation between friends was normal, unable to keep refusing to acknowledge the attraction between them.

Albus inched deeper into the bend of Scorpius’ arm along the sofa. His throat felt dry as he spoke softly, all the wry humor gone from his voice. “Do you like carrots, Scor?”

The furrow between Scorpius’ eyes deepened, as if it pained him to admit, “I love carrots... I think I’ve loved carrots for a really long time.”

Albus watched Scorpius swallow hard. He watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall and the pulse in his jugular vein quicken. He watched the flutter of Scorpius’ pale lashes as he blinked nervously. Scorpius seemed to be waiting tensely for Albus to laugh and render this whole exchange a dirty joke.

But Albus didn’t laugh. He swiftly moved into Scorpius’ space and kissed him.

And Scorpius squeaked. It was a tiny sound, barely audible. For a moment, Albus thought he’d done the absolute worst thing in the world to his best friend of seven years.

He was about to pull away and apologize profusely, but Scorpius reached up and held Albus’ cheek. He could feel his own skin prickling with heat beneath Scorpius’ fingers. He could feel Scorpius’ lips moving softly against his, reassuring him that Scorpius wanted this, or at least did not object terribly.

Albus felt the warmth of Scorpius’ quivering breath against his mouth – felt him shivering with what seemed like trepidation and desire all in one contradictory emotion. He rested his hand on Scorpius’ knee, wordlessly comforting him. Somehow that hand found its way to Scorpius’ thigh, prompting Scorpius’ fingers to curl around the back of Albus’ neck.

As Albus wet his parched lips, he let the tip of his tongue brush along Scorpius’ bottom lip, eliciting a small shudder.

“ _Oh gods..._ ,” Scorpius moaned softly, “I’m being _kissed_.”

Albus did not think Scorpius meant to say this out loud. He had never minded when Scorpius had verbalized thoughts that were probably intended to stay in his head. And even now, as Scorpius was experiencing his very first kiss, he had no brain-to-mouth filter. Those rapturous words made Albus feel hot all over.

Albus drawled deeply, smirking against the corner of Scorpius’ lips, “If you shut up, you’ll get a proper snogging.”

“Oh _fuck me,_ there’s more?” Scorpius asked breathlessly. He was far from naïve, but perhaps astonished that Albus was daring to go further.

The tip of Albus’ tongue gently traced another wet line across Scorpius’ bottom lip, prompting the other to open his mouth just slightly enough to invite deeper exploration. Albus’ tongue slid past Scorpius’ parted lips to meet Scorpius’ own soft, warm, tongue. And, _Sweet Salazar_ , it was like Heaven itself melting in his mouth, better than any of Albus’ fantasies.

They kissed this way for minutes that flowed sweetly like carefree hours – so sensually slow, so lusciously wet, so exquisitely soft, so _fucking right_.

How could Albus have ever thought it was wrong to want this? He and Scorpius just fit, in ways that he’d never felt with Lysander. So when Albus moved to sit astride Scorpius’ lap, it seemed like a natural configuration of their bodies – like he was made to fit perfectly into Scorpius’ every curve and angle.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Albus mumbled against Scorpius’ mouth.

“Because you’re stupid,” Scorpius joked with a soft, sweet giggle that reverberated against Albus’ lips and made him twitch in his pants. Scorpius had to have felt that twitch.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Albus concurred as he flung his school robe off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. His jumper soon followed.

“Not arguing with you there,” Scorpius said as he tried, with great difficulty, to get out of his own robes while a boy sat in his lap.

Albus saw that Scorpius was struggling to get his clothes off, but didn’t do anything to help him, for he was much too amused. Scorpius was positively adorable, grappling with his clothes. And of course, there was the added benefit of Scorpius lifting his hips to free the back of his robes trapped beneath him. If Scorpius hadn’t felt Albus twitch in his pants before, surely he must have felt it then. 

“Hey, why am I the stupid one?” Albus asked, as he watched Scorpius doing what amounted to the most inelegant striptease in history. “If you were so keen on kissing me, you could’ve done it. Easily.”

Scorpius wrestled with his jumper around his head and gave a muffled argument. “Two words, Albie: Lysander Scamander.”

Albus didn’t need further explanation.

When Scorpius was free from his knit jumper, his blond hair was in total disarray, similar to that cute way it had always been in the morning, though Albus had never allowed himself to describe Scorpius with that word before - _cute_. Albus slowly raked his fingers through Scorpius’ disheveled strands with both hands – something he had always wanted to do, but it had never been appropriate. Albus delighted in the fact that Scorpius’ hair was indeed as soft as it looked.

“Beautiful…,” Albus marveled quietly.

“You really do have a thing for blonds,” Scorpius remarked.

“I have a thing for _you_ ,” Albus admitted, and then brought their lips together, still with his fingers tangled in Scorpius’ hair.

Scorpius chuckled. “Shut the fuck up, Albus Potter.”

“I’m serious,” Albus insisted, more with his body than with his words. He rolled his hips slowly to grind into Scorpius’ lap.

Scorpius groaned with approval and found the back of Albus’ trousers with his hands. “You’re not Sirius. You’re Severus,” he murmured.

Albus giggled. “Such a dork.”

“You love it.” Scorpius splayed his fingers across Albus’ backside.

“Always have,” said Albus.

Scorpius laughed softly. “Quit chatting me up and just fucking kiss me, yeah?”

Albus was only slightly dismayed that Scorpius believed he was insincere. He thought Scorpius knew him better than that. But then again, maybe it was _because_ Scorpius knew him so well that he thought Albus was talking from his dick instead of from his heart.

Albus would just have to work harder to prove to Scorpius that he was in love with him… after snogging him senseless, that is.

He kissed Scorpius hard, and gentle experimental mouthing gave way to messy lashing of tongues. Neckties were loosened and shirts were hastily unbuttoned halfway, just enough to permit hands to investigate. Albus took it upon himself to touch every patch of bared flesh he could find on Scorpius’ body and watched a pale pink color blossoming across Scorpius’ fevered skin beneath his fingertips.

He followed each touch with a wet kiss and tasted the subtle brine of Scorpius’ skin over the elongated column of his neck, over his round shoulders, down his heaving chest – savoring the way he made Scorpius sweat.

He made a mental note of all the freckles on Scorpius’ body that he wasn’t already aware of. They were clusters of stars to be discovered on the pale expanse of Scorpius’ skin. Albus wondered if Scorpius would ever let him map them all.

Scorpius did a fair amount of prospecting of his own, seeking out hidden lines on Albus’ body to trace with exploratory fingers and a worshipful mouth, acknowledging every subtle muscle and bone with a whispered _fuck, you’re gorgeous_ or _Merlin be damned, you’re so hot._ Though Albus knew that these words were not spoken as flattery, but simply Scorpius’ unfiltered appraisal, he couldn’t help but blush from the inadvertent litany of praise.

In the same way that their attraction towards each other could no longer be ignored, it had to be acknowledged that Scorpius was sporting an impressive tent in his trousers. Albus could feel Scorpius’ hardness as he shifted in his lap. He grinded slowly against him in a strained attempt to gather the full scope of Scorpius’ erection, and even through both of their trousers, Albus could feel the impressiveness of his cock.

As Albus rocked in Scorpius’ lap, he imagined taking that cock in all of the conceivable ways one could. He realized that he didn’t have to remain content with just a fantasy. His fingers found the closures of Scorpius’ trousers, then fumbled with them anxiously.

“Oh my gods, we’re going there. We’re really going there,” said Scorpius, his breathy voice shaking with what may have been anticipation or dread. Albus wasn’t quite sure which.

Albus stilled his hands just as he was about to reach into Scorpius’ pants. Suddenly, Albus felt like _that sort of creep_ again. This wasn’t just any beautiful boy with a hard on for Albus. This was _Scorpius._ This was the first boy – the only boy – who looked at him on that first train ride to Hogwarts and saw him for who he really was, not what his name was or what that was supposed to mean. This was the boy who shared half his childhood, his sense of humor, his heartache, and his dreams.

“Do you think we should stop?” Albus blurted out, seemingly out of nowhere. 

“What? No. _Fuck_ no. Gods, are you joking? This is brilliant,” Scorpius replied breathlessly, “We have so much catching up to do. All those years wasted, wanking ourselves off when we should’ve been wanking off each…” Then Scorpius trailed off before finishing his sentence, his enthusiasm suddenly deflating. He hung his head in shame and sighed. “Yeah… maybe we should slow down.”

Scorpius had likely come to the same conclusion as Albus had – that if they jumped into this too hard, too quickly, they’d wind up hurting each other, which was the last thing that either of them wanted to do to their best friend.

Albus gently lifted Scorpius’ chin with a finger and whispered, “Hey.” He gazed down on Scorpius’ pout and it made his heart ache. He quirked a small reassuring smile and said, “I really like kissing you. I could keep going. But it’s just --”

“It’s just a lot,” Scorpius concluded. “I know.” He put his arms around Albus and embraced him like he always had. He buried his face into Albus’ chest and mumbled solemnly, “You’re my best mate, Albie. My partner in crime. The Hamlet to my Horatio. The Watson to my Sherlock. As the muggles say, you’re my ride-or-die. Don’t fuck this up because you’re horny.” He added a quiet chuckle, reassuring Albus that he was not blaming him completely.

Albus scoffed without malice, “I’m not the only horny bloke in this equation, mate. I mean, Godric be damned – who’s got a carrot in his pocket _now_?”

“I know, right?” Scorpius adjusted himself uncomfortably in his seat. “Merlin’s blue balls, these trousers are bloody _tight_.”

Albus was rather amused that he and Scorpius could talk about Scorpius’ lingering conspicuous erection as casually as if it were yesterday’s difficult Potions exam.

 

The loud creaking of the heavy doors to the common room sent Albus and Scorpius to their feet, scrambling to set their clothes into less of an incriminating disarray. But when Neville entered the room, it was still quite obvious what Albus and Scorpius had been doing, and he threw his hand over his face to shield his eyes from what he’d stumbled upon.

“Boys! Bloody hell! You’re supposed to be on patrol!” Neville admonished with disappointment and disbelief.

“We were tired and needed a break,” Scorpius lied terribly.

Albus nudged him and gave him a look that said _seriously?_

“What? It’s sort of true,” he whispered.

“Well, when you two were _taking a break,_ ” Neville put the words in air quotes, then declared, “the grounds were breached.”

Albus and Scorpius both froze, their eyes wide with alarm.

Neville snapped his fingers at them to keep them moving. “Come along now. Get yourselves together. We’re going on lockdown in Ravenclaw Tower. I’ve been looking for you two for the past fifteen minutes. You’re the last patrol team out here.”

As they walked back to Ravenclaw tower together, Neville explained the situation. A Cursed One had attacked Zenith and Bryce in the owlery while they had been on patrol. The two had managed to escape unharmed. Mrs. Longbottom was at the owlery, dispatching the Cursed One. Teddy and Professor Patil were sweeping the castle and grounds to check for more of The Cursed. Neville was charged with rounding up all the students on patrol, to send them to Headmistress McGonagall in Ravenclaw Tower.

Albus and Scorpius exchanged worried looks upon hearing the news, hanging back a few paces behind Neville to whisper to one another.

“This is the part where we all die,” Scorpius said, his voice deceptively serene, but his eyes betraying his terror.

“This is what we trained for. We’re not going to die,” Albus reassured him. But Albus was anything but sure.

Neville stopped in his tracks and gestured for Albus and Scorpius to do the same. He seemed to be listening for something. There was an echoing clatter, somewhere around the corner of the corridor.

“Weapons at the ready,” Neville whispered, drawing a broadsword from the scabbard strapped across his back.

Albus instinctively reached into the pocket of his robes for his wand. Scorpius gave a frightened little squeak and grabbed Albus’ arm so tightly that it hurt.

“You’re going to protect me with your carrot?” Scorpius hissed shrilly.

Albus realized he had not drawn his wand, but the dry carrot from his pocket. Thoroughly embarrassed, he shoved the vegetable back into his robes and remembered that he was armed. He took the bow off his shoulder and reached back into his quiver for an arrow. Without Albus’ arm to cling to, Scorpius took up his own bow and arrow. Albus dearly hoped that Scorpius would remember their training, because Scorpius was a much better marksman.

Neville carefully stepped around the corner in full combat stance, and then immediately let his shoulders relax. “Oh, it’s you.”

Albus and Scorpius followed Neville around the corner to find Teddy in the corridor, standing beneath a floating cloud of what looked like protective Quidditch gear that was magically suspended in the air.

Teddy explained, “I was in the Quidditch shed, hoping to grab a broom to do an aerial sweep.   Unfortunately all the brooms appear to be missing. But the good news is, we have some, erm… armor.”

“Well, that’s dismaying,” Neville remarked as he sheathed his sword. “Good thinking regarding the gear, though.”

“Lovely,” Scorpius whimpered, managing sarcasm amidst fear, “We have no means of aerial escape, but our shins will be safe. Brilliant.”

“You take Albus and Scorpius back to the dorms with the gear, Lupin. I’ll finish sweeping the castle,” Neville said.

Teddy nodded at Neville and then looked between Albus and Scorpius. “Let’s do this single file. Since you’re both armed, Albus, you cover the front, and Scorpius, you cover the rear.”

“Erm, okay…?” Scorpius accepted reluctantly, looking completely unsure of this arrangement.

Albus didn’t like the idea of not being able to see Scorpius walking behind him and suggested, “Scorpius is a better shot. He should take up the lead. I’ll cover the rear.”

“Erm, sure…” Scorpius looked even more insecure as he moved stiffly forward, readying his bow and arrow. “I’m in the lead. I’m first… First to die.”

“You’re not going to die, Scor. I’ve got your back,” Albus said resolutely. He knew he had a better chance of protecting Scorpius if he had him in his line of sight. He would leap in front of Scorpius to shield him if he had to.

Scorpius took a deep breath, as if to bolster his courage, and glanced back at Albus. “I trust you,” he said earnestly.

“I’ve got your back too, Scorpius,” Teddy said.

This did not seem to reassure Scorpius. Wryly, he remarked, “Terrific. I feel so safe now, Lupin.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Teddy said, not in a self depreciating way, and not even in a reprimanding way, but in a way that was simply honest. “If you feel safe, your guard is down. And if your guard is down, well…”

“You die,” said Scorpius.

Albus did not refute this.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a subtle homage to "Malec" in this chapter. Also, this chapter definitely earned the Explicit rating. Finally, it was written from 3 different points of view of events occurring on the same day.

_DAY 30 OF QUARANTINE_

A nightmare startled Zenith awake in the blue light of dawn. In that state between dream and consciousness, she continued to swat at imagined assailants, becoming tangled in her sweat-soaked bed sheets. The Cursed had been ravaging her in her sleep, gnawing at her limbs with their stinking, rotten mouths.

It took her longer than it should have to catch her breath and to reassure herself that she was safe in her bed, safe in Ravenclaw Tower, and safe at Hogwarts. She reminded herself that the professors had checked every corner of the castle and grounds, and that no other Cursed Ones had been found, other than the one in the owlery, which Mrs. Longbottom confirmed had indeed been killed yesterday, or more accurately, stopped. The creature had been dead to begin with.

And to make sure the thing stayed dead, Professor Longbottom and his wife had hacked it to pieces with swords and had burned the remains. They told none of the other students this – just Zenith, presumably to calm her nerves and to help her feel safe. But what had been meant to reassure her had only horrified her. Zenith could not imagine the resolve it took for a Herbology teacher and an innkeeper to mutilate a human corpse and set it alight, monster or not.

  

Despite the fact that she was drenched in perspiration and her skin was hot to the touch, Zenith felt cold. She sat up and pulled the brocade dressing gown from the bedpost and wrapped herself in it. She felt a persistent ache, deep in the bones of her right arm – the arm that had been in the Cursed One’s mouth. She slowly peeled back the damp sleeve of her gauze nightdress to reveal her wrist. What she saw made her hyperventilate. She bit her lip and covered her mouth to prevent sounds of horror from escaping.

Even in the dim light of early morning filtering through the curtains of her bed, Zenith could see the unmistakable dark, branching lines of her own veins, crawling like black vines up her forearm to her elbow.

  

When she had returned to the castle yesterday, she had run into the bathroom and had scrubbed her wound with hot water. She had not told anyone that she’d been bitten. When she had showered last night, she’d been careful to hide the semicircular bite marks on her wrists with a washcloth. Miss Rose had told Zenith that she was clear.

Though The Ministry had not officially confirmed it as a means of contracting The Dark Virus, Zenith had insider information that being bitten by one of The Cursed was indeed a way to become infected. Her mother, a muggle emergency room doctor, had told Zenith about people who’d been attacked by The Cursed. She had told her about bite victims whose limbs were amputated to prevent the sickness from taking hold.   Knowing this was enough to keep Zenith silent about the full scope of the attack she’d suffered in the owlery.

  

Zenith was infected. She knew that the dark veins meant death was inevitable. And now that her worst fear had been confirmed, she had a new, more unfathomable horror to contend with. What would the professors do to her if they knew she was infected? Would they kill her to prevent her from infecting others? Would they kill her to prevent her from becoming one of The Cursed? And once she was dead, would they chop up her body and burn it, just like Professor Longbottom had done to the Cursed One in the owlery?

Zenith flew out of bed in a panic. She grabbed her makeup kit from her trunk and ran to the bathroom before her roommates awoke. In the mirror above the sinks, Zenith saw a sickly, pale girl. This girl was a stranger to her, and not the lovely young woman with dewy skin like a white rose. Already, her eyelids were becoming rimmed with the color of a dark bruise, and her lips were dry and cracked from fever.

She frantically dabbed concealer and powder and tinted creams on every patch of skin that would not be covered by her robes. She set her black curls to frame her face in shadows. She didn’t know what she would do tonight when it came time for communal showers. But for now, the signs of her infection were masked.

At the breakfast table, Bryce was quick to take the seat beside her, as he had been in the habit of doing lately. He asked of her wellbeing, not in his usual courteous manner, but with genuine concern. She demurred, more as a means of concealing her face than out of feigned coyness, and admitted only that she was still a bit shaken after yesterday’s trauma. He went to rest a consoling hand on her shoulder. With an uneasy shrug, Zenith made it clear that the gesture was unwelcome.

As to be expected, all of this was confusing to Bryce. She had kissed him less than twenty-four hours ago, and now, she behaved as if his touch was repellant.   Of course, it was her absolute prerogative to be inconsistent with her affection. She owed him nothing. But it saddened her that now, when she longed for the comfort of the young man’s embrace, she could not accept it, for fear of being found out – for fear of transmitting her infection.

Bryce did not grow indignant when she withdrew from him – not like yesterday. Instead, he respected her personal space. Without getting too close to her, he whispered, “I’m sorry I left you alone in the owlery.”

All Zenith could do was heave a long, weary sigh. She’d lost count of the number of times he had apologized since it happened. She had yet to grant him forgiveness, but knew that she must find it in her heart to do so before… before she ran out of time. To die with bitterness in one’s heart would leave her soul at unrest, and, despite what others believed of her, she really did not fancy becoming the ghost of Hufflepuff house.

When it came time for roll call, Zenith responded to Professor Lupin speaking her name with a firm and confident, “Present and clear,” despite her actual state of being, which was not entirely present in that moment, and undoubtedly afflicted with The Dark Virus.

At the end of breakfast, which consisted of meager helpings of watery porridge, Headmistress McGonagall announced that training would be suspended today in favor of keeping the students safe in Ravenclaw Tower while the professors continued their investigation into yesterday’s incident in the owlery. It was still a mystery how the Cursed One came to be there, being that the wards showed no signs of being breached.

Professor Patil pointed out, “If there’s a weakness in the wards somewhere, then other Cursed Ones could have come in since yesterday. We have to find the breach and seal it as soon as possible. We’re going to need more help to cover all this ground.”

Headmistress McGonagall grudgingly accepted this. Of course, she did not want to thrust her students into danger now that the safety of the castle was uncertain. But by the same token, Professor Patil was right. There was only so much ground that she, the other three professors, and Mrs. Longbottom could cover, especially since all of the brooms in the castle had gone missing.

After quickly conferring with the other adults at the table, the Headmistress announced, “All who wish to patrol may volunteer to do so, under the following conditions: You will remain with at least one other person. You will carry a weapon at all times, and wear the quidditch gear as protection. At the top of each hour, you are to report back to Mrs. Longbottom, who will remain in Ravenclaw Tower with all those who do not wish to patrol. We will all convene at noon for lunch. Now, assuming Miss Potter is the first to volunteer as always, who would like to--”

“I volunteer.” To everyone’s utter surprise, including Zenith’s, Bryce was the first to stand, even before Headmistress McGonagall could finish her sentence. He exchanged a brief glance at Zenith, and from his expression, she knew that Bryce was doing this for her. His chivalry would have warmed her heart, had she not felt so cold still.

“Mister Zabini, partner with Miss Potter. You are both dismissed to gear up. Report to Professor Longbottom for your assigned route. Any other volunteers?”

“I’ll go,” Lorcan Scamander offered. “I don’t need a partner,” he added, not with arrogance.

“But Lor,” Lysander began to protest as he rose halfway from his seat and then quickly sat down again when Lorcan gave him a warning glare.

Zenith guessed that Lorcan did not _want_ a partner. Perhaps he did not want to put his twin in danger and did not trust the others enough to patrol with him.

“Absolutely not,” Headmistress McGonagall objected. “From this moment onward, no student shall leave Ravenclaw Tower without the accompaniment of one other person. Lorcan, you may go with Professor Lupin if you’d rather not patrol with a fellow student. You are dismissed to gear up.”

Lorcan nodded at this suggestion and rushed to join the others gathering by a neighboring table that was stockpiled with weapons and protective gear, leaving Lysander to frown with distress. Poor, sweet, Lysander – both his lady friend and his brother were going out into the unknown. Zenith moved to sit near him to offer consolation.

Careful not to get too close, she said, “It’s alright, Mister Scamander. I’m worried for them as well. I’ll stay with you.”

Lysander glanced up at the enchanted ceiling and sighed. He appeared to be fighting back tears. The poor dear had always been a sensitive one. “I feel so helpless. I don’t want Lor or my Lily Doll to get hurt, but I can’t do anything to protect them. I’m morally opposed to harming The Cursed. They’re still human, you know?”

Zenith hazarded to rest her gloved hand on Lysander’s shoulder just briefly enough to try to convey to him just how much she appreciated his viewpoint. “I agree. They cannot help what they are, nor what they do. They are but victims.” 

Lysander’s eyes met hers. He looked confused. “But, Zenith… You seem so keen on fighting them. And you’re good at it too, judging from what I’ve seen you do in training.”

Gently, Zenith explained, “Out of all of us, I’m the only one, other than Mister Zabini, who fought an actual Cursed One. And what I saw, however gruesome, was still human. At one time, he was a person, just like you and I.”

Lysander’s smile grew warm. “You get it, Zenith Smith. Nobody else seems to.”

Somewhat distantly, she replied, “Well, I dearly hope that they learn to see things the way you and I do… and soon.”

 

In the end, it had just been Bryce, Lily Potter, and Lorcan Scamander who volunteered to patrol. The young Masseurs Weasley - Louis and Hugo - volunteered to stand watch at the top of the Memorial Tower, the tallest of all the towers in Hogwarts, which made a very good lookout point from which to survey the entirety of Hogwarts grounds.

Miss Rose never looked up from her book during the call for volunteers, and for that matter, during the entirety of breakfast. Also seemingly on another planet entirely, Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy opted to continue conspiring closely with each other rather than volunteer.

And for all their unwillingness to patrol, Miss Lily scolded them. “Bloody cowards, the lot of you,” she said as the remainders filed past her on the way out of The Great Hall.

Zenith did not let those words affect her. If it were not for Zenith’s bravery and quickness with her weapon, the Cursed One might have still been on the loose.

“Will you really not join us, Al?” Lily asked of her brother, incredulous, her stare piercing and accusatory.

“You know me, Lils. I’ve never been a hero,” said young Mister Potter, perhaps with a tinge of bitterness.”

“Leave him alone, Lily,” said Bryce, always quick to jump to the defense of a fellow Slytherin, “There’s no reason to put every single person at risk right now.”

Then Bryce fully turned his attention to Zenith. He looked so handsome in his Slytherin quidditch gear, ever the star seeker. Zenith's heart fluttered in her chest, and incidentally made her fever flare up. “I’ll see you later?” He leaned towards her tentatively – so different from the predatory way he used to move towards her. Again, he did not kiss her, but gave Zenith the opportunity.

“Of course,” she replied. She took a graceful step back, gave him a small smile, and blew him a kiss. “Excuse me if I don’t join you, but I fear that yesterday’s trauma has left me too unfocused to patrol.”

“No need to explain, Zenith,” Bryce assured her. “Anyway, these fools need a good fighter like you to protect them. It’s good that you’re hanging back.”

Mrs. Longbottom hurried them along. “Quickly, now. To Ravenclaw Tower. Remain alert.”

  

When Zenith reached the Ravenclaw common room, the exertion of climbing the stairs had left her dizzy. She excused herself to go lie down in bed, again somewhat feigning residual trauma from yesterday. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she fell into another fitful sleep, full of nightmares – these ones consisting of The Longbottoms and Lily Potter cutting off Zenith’s limbs while she remained fully sentient. As she had that morning, she awoke hours later in a mess of sweat-soaked clothes and sheets. Her fever was high enough to make her physically shake.

This time, when she peeled back her sleeve, her veins were more prominent. They swelled with black blood beneath her skin, dark enough to tinge her flesh a greyish color. The hand on her affected arm was so stiff and painful, she could barely wiggle her fingers. Instead of panicking outright, for she had expected to see the virus ravage its way through her bloodstream, she felt utterly despondent. When she cried, her face was so hot with fever that her warm tears actually gave her some relief. 

She changed her clothes, reapplied her makeup using the small dressing table mirror in her room, and slowly emerged from the girls’ dormitory. Mrs. Longbottom was busy restringing archery bows. Miss Rose’s face was obscured by a book. Mister Malfoy’s face was obscured with Mister Potter’s face, and Zenith was too ill to be happy about this latest relationship development.

Alarmed upon seeing Zenith, Lysander flung himself toward her from his position on an armchair.  “Oh dear… You look terrible,” he remarked.

Zenith fluffed her curls in an attempt to hide her face. “I’m having… lady issues,” she lied. 

“Oh…” Lysander’s face fell with sympathy and understanding - More understanding than a male could reasonably feel for a woman who was menstruating, but such was Lysander’s immense capacity for empathy. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Zenith forced a smile. “If you would be a dear and accompany me to the hospital wing so that I may obtain erm… ladies’ things, that would be lovely.”

Zenith was thankful that Lysander was so naïve and so trusting. And for once, she was also thankful that Lysander had no sense of modesty in how he spoke. He announced, quite oblivious to how embarrassed this should have made Zenith feel, “Mrs. Longbottom, I’m going to take Zenith to the Hospital Wing. She’s on her period and she needs some things.” 

Mrs. Longbottom didn’t even look up from her work. “Be quick about it. Bring back extra in case Lily and Rose need any. Snag me some Headache Tincture while you’re there.” Zenith scurried toward the door and Lysander followed quickly behind. Mrs. Longbottom added, “Grab a knife from the coffee table for protection. I just sharpened them.”

Zenith took a small dagger in its leather sheath just in case, which made Lysander frown. He chose not to arm himself.

As they walked quickly, Lysander chatted casually while Zenith had to harness all her strength to keep from stumbling. Just the exertion of hurrying to the Hospital Wing was making her heart beat thunderously enough that she could feel it without pressing her hand to her chest.

“I know how terrible it can be when you’re on your period. Lily gets these cramps and it turns her into an absolute monster. Oh, I don’t mind, of course. I mean, I don’t mind that she’s a monster. I don’t like to see her in pain, however. She says that drinking lots of water and chewing the roots of Evening Primrose helps.” 

If Zenith were in her usual state of mind, she would have taken the opportunity to scoff at wizarding healing practices. They could be so archaic.

Zenith’s mother was a muggle-born witch and understood that muggle medicine was far superior to apothecary potions in many instances, and Zenith was thankful that she had shared her knowledge. Paracetamol, for instance. Incidentally, it was wonderful for alleviating the pain of menstrual cramps. But right now, Zenith was desperate for some Paracetamol to bring down her fever. She was hoping that she could find some stashed in a forgotten drawer in the Hospital Wing.

Her desperation had reached a dismaying peak once they’d reached their destination. She did not care if it made her seem uncivilized when she tore apart every drawer and cabinet with shivering hands. Lysander hadn’t even noticed when she tossed aside a box of tampons.

But someone had noticed that she was making a mess of the hospital. That someone cleared their throat politely and said, “Help you find something, sweetie?”

Zenith’s head snapped around from behind a cabinet door, startled to find a young medi-witch in white matron’s robes standing there. But this was not Madam Miller. The school’s resident medi-witch had left to volunteer at Saint Mungo’s, where medical professionals were desperately needed to handle the epidemic.

The fact that this young lady had been standing there, and the fact that she was at Hogwarts at all, had surprised Zenith. How had they been living in the castle for a whole month without knowing that there was a substitute medi-witch in residence?

Zenith was highly suspicious of this woman. For starters, she had the most unprofessional hairstyle Zenith had ever seen of a medi-witch, and being a doctor's daughter, Zenith knew this from personal experience. The woman, seemingly no older than twenty-five, had blue hair beneath her white matron’s cap that fell along the entire length of her back. It was not the blue of a metamorphmagus like Professor Lupin, but a ghostly, unnatural, silvery blue color. She looked more like a pop singer than a medical professional. 

Lysander piped up cheerily, “Oh brilliant! I didn’t know anyone was still working down here. I’m Lysander. This is my friend, Zenith. She’s on her period.”

The witch clasped her hands together and grinned. It was a smile as synthetic as her hair color. “Wonderful! I’m Madam Delphi. I’ve not had any patients here in ages. So good to finally see some fresh… faces.” She extended her arms towards Zenith and said in a patronizing voice, “Come here, Zenith sweetie and let me have a look at you. Menstrual cramps, is it? Any water retention? Bloating?” She took hold of both of Zenith’s gloved hands. 

Zenith tried to snatch her hands away, but Madam Delphi clamped down on her fingers.

“Oh my,” Madam Delphi said worriedly. “It’s more serious than we thought, hm?” She gave her a knowing look and quirked her sharply lined eyebrows. “Lysander, sweetie, I think you should give your dear friend some privacy. I shall have to do a more close examination. Why don’t you run along back to the dorms.”

Zenith flashed a panic stricken look at Lysander, but the poor fool was so trusting that he did not recognize that anything was amiss. Zenith’s lip quivered as she said, “We’re not supposed to be alone in the corridors.” She was terrified of Lysander leaving her alone with this woman, even if Zenith was armed.

Madam Delphi insisted. “But this is women’s business. A true lady would not have her privacy violated in such a way as to have a _boy_ present for a medical examination. That would not be proper at all.”

Zenith tugged again, trying to escape Madam Delphi’s alarmingly strong grasp.

The medi-witch whispered at Zenith’s ear, “I can see the marks of The Dark Curse climbing your neck, sweetie. Send Lysander away now if you’d like to keep this secret between us.”

Zenith felt her voice getting stuck in her throat. She was terrified of staying with this stranger, but also terrified of Lysander finding out that she was infected. Madam Delphi was probably what McGonagall had been talking about when she had spoken of infected students being _dealt with swiftly_.

Zenith let her eyelids fall briefly while she took a shuddering breath and permitted a tear to run down her cheek as she fully surrendered to her fate. “Lysander, please go back. Ladies’ business. You know...” 

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit,” Lysander replied, still so oblivious. “Don’t forget, Mrs. Longbottom wants you to bring back extra ladies’ things for Lily and Rose. Oh, and headache stuff for her. But if you want me to bring all of that back with me now, I don’t mind. Really.”

“That’s alright, sweetie,” Madam Delphi answered for her. As she spoke, her unwavering stare never left Zenith. “I’ll send over a care package just for the ladies. You run along now, Lysander.”

“Tell Bryce I forgive him,” Zenith called out in Lysander's wake before she heard the heavy doors to the Hospital Wing close behind him.

 

_EARLIER_

Over Albus’ shoulder, Scorpius watched Lysander across the Ravenclaw common room while presumably listening to Albus complaining about his sister. The other blond boy was sitting in a wingback armchair with an illustrated copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ open on his lap. Scorpius watched and waited, waited and watched.

“What in Salazar’s name are you looking at, Scor?” Albus asked, having finally realized that Scorpius’ attention was not fully where it ought to be.

At that precise moment, Lysander glanced up and looked in Scorpius’ direction. Scorpius did not answer Albus, and instead, swiftly took the opportunity to kiss him firmly on the mouth. Albus seemed startled, but didn’t mind. The sensation of kissing Albus in public was thrilling enough to make Scorpius’ eyelids involuntarily flutter closed. It was still so new, so electric, still such a melt-in-your mouth delicacy to kiss his best friend.

When his eyes opened, Lysander was still watching. And when their eyes met across the room, Lysander acknowledged Scorpius’ stare with a sigh. It wasn’t quite a sad sigh, nor was it entirely an annoyed sigh. But it was a reaction, and it was exactly what Scorpius was after.

Scorpius smirked almost evilly at Lysander. He took Albus gently by the back of the neck, threading his fingers through his hair that was getting too long, demonstrating to Lysander that Albus was now his. Not that Scorpius was taking Albus directly away from Lysander. Albus and Lysander had been broken up for nearly a year. But still, it gave Scorpius a small thrill. Because as illogical as it had been, Scorpius had always felt that Lysander had taken Albus away from _him_ over a year ago. Of course, Albus hadn’t been _his_ back then – not in any way that had been formally acknowledged. But Albus had _always_ belonged to Scorpius, and Scorpius to Albus – such was the special nature of their friendship.

Or, if Scorpius was honest with himself, such was the special nature of his jealousy. Scorpius hadn’t been a possessive friend. He was just… so enamored with Albus, and just coming to realize this now.

Scorpius kissed Albus again, this time snogging him properly, with his eyes closed and his mouth open. When they parted to take a breath, Scorpius glanced over at Lysander, and Albus noticed.

Albus turned to look behind him, and upon seeing Lysander there, faced Scorpius again to give him an admonishing glare, albeit a lighthearted one. “You are such a smug arsehole,” he drawled, draping his arms on Scorpius’ shoulder to show him that he hadn’t minded.

“I’m _your_ arsehole now,” Scorpius purred, and then immediately realized what a bizarre thing he’d just proclaimed and straightened in his seat. “Wait… that came out wrong. I meant to say, I may be an arsehole, but I’m _your_ arsehole. No, that’s not right either. I’m yours, but I’m an arsehole?” 

Albus leaned close and mumbled against the corner of Scorpius’ mouth as he folded him into an embrace. “Let’s just say you’re mine, yeah? Forget the arsehole bit.”

Scorpius melted in Albus’ arms and felt his heart flutter in his chest, but then also felt a dull ache there. “You mean it?” he asked, his brow furrowing with doubt.

“If you want, yeah,” Albus replied coolly, “I guess so.”

Scorpius straightened again. He held Albus by the shoulders and put him at arms length. “No, Albus Severus Potter,” he said quietly but firmly. “You let Lysander define your relationship without considering what you really did or did not want. Maybe you thought you were being kind to him by letting him call you his boyfriend, even when all you wanted was somebody to wank you off now and then. But you will _not_ do that to me. I’m different, and you fucking know that.”

Scorpius had surprised himself by how quickly his emotions had escalated. Even Albus appeared startled and a bit hurt. Albus’ eyes fell, looking like a scolded child. He absently picked at the loose thread hanging from the hem of Scorpius’ jumper.

“You _are_ different. _This,_ ” Albus gestured back and forth between them, “is different.”

“You’d better fucking believe it,” Scorpius asserted, almost bitterly. He was upset that Albus even considered doing the same thing to him that he had done to Lysander. “I need to know what you want from me. And we are close enough friends that I think you should be honest with me, even if what you want is to be friends with benefits. But if that’s what you want, let me just save you the trouble of asking me, because I am _not_ down for that.”

Even though Scorpius was beginning to get a bit belligerent, Albus still cracked a shy grin. “So… does this mean you want to go back to being friends with _no_ benefits? Or does this mean you want to be boyfriends?”

“I want…” Scorpius paused. It shouldn’t have been this hard to tell Albus what he wanted. But considering he’d never even admitted it to himself, his hesitation could be excused. Not to mention, there was still that heartbreaking possibility that Albus did not want the same thing. “I want to be boyfriends,” he mumbled quietly, staring down at that little thread that Albus was still picking at. “But if you don’t, that’s okay. As long as we stay friends, I’m alright with that. I don’t want to lose you.”

Albus heaved a deep, relieved sigh and glanced at Scorpius. “I was hoping you’d say that. Because I want to be boyfriends.”

Scorpius’ heart leapt out of his chest and his eyes grew wide with elation as they met Albus’ emerald green stare. “Are you serious?”

Albus giggled. “No, I’m not Sirius, I’m Severus.” 

“Oh my gods, you’re such a fucking dork.” Scorpius laughed and pulled Albus into a hug – a hug that was no different from any other hug they’d shared before, which was completely reassuring, because it meant they could be boyfriends, and still be best friends.

“Yes, but I’m _your_ fucking dork,” Albus declared, “Your fucking dorky boyfriend.”

“And I’m your fucking arsehole boyfriend,” Scorpius proclaimed in turn.

Albus murmured hotly with his lips behind Scorpius’ ear, “Shut the fuck up and kiss me properly like a proper boyfriend.”

Scorpius hazarded to glance across at Lysander, who was flipping through his book with conspicuously renewed fervor and interest. Triumphantly, Scorpius took Albus and kissed him hard. It was almost too much for public consumption, not that they’d ever been ashamed to show affection in public. But some things were much better in private.

The door to the girls’ dormitory opened, and it was enough of a distraction to allow Scorpius and Albus to escape to the boys’ dormitory while Mrs. Longbottom was speaking to Zenith, who’d emerged from a long nap. But really, Mrs. Longbottom had been distracted the entire time, sharpening weapons and restringing bows, while Scorpius and Albus had been taking license to snog each other at the far end of the common room.

The two boys giggled as they slipped away, their eyes alight with impending mischief. It felt just as it had always been – two best friends sneaking off to make mischief. Only now, their mischief involved far fewer clothes.

 

Hidden behind the curtains of Scorpius’ four poster bed, in a tangle of naked limbs and ruffled bed sheets, he confessed to Albus, “You should know that I’m actually not sure that I’m keen on S & M flavored blowjobs.”

Albus gave a closed-lip chuckle, and this time, his laugh was one Scorpius had never heard before. It was deep, and soft, and almost sinister. And this brand new laugh reverberated through Scorpius’ entire body, right down to his cock. He wanted to inspire that sound from Albus over and over.

“No worries - I won’t forget that I have teeth,” said Albus, that same seductively sinister quality in his voice, as his head disappeared beneath Scorpius’ duvet.

  

 

_LATER_

Albus was so proud of himself. He had managed to get Scorpius all the way down his throat without gagging (too much), and without accidentally using his teeth. This was quite a feat, considering that Scorpius had proven to be just as well endowed as Albus had suspected. Still with the taste of his boyfriend hot on his tongue ( _oh gods, his BOYFRIEND_ ), Albus emerged from beneath the blankets and crawled up Scorpius’ spent, nude form to steal a post orgasmic kiss.

“That was… _wow_ ,” Scorpius panted between lazy, wet kisses, “That was really, fucking, ... _wow_ …”

Scorpius was glistening with sweat and blushing all the way up to his ears and down his neck. He looked gorgeously wrecked.

“As in, _wow that was brilliant_? Or, _wow that was terrible_?” Albus asked, though he already knew. He just wanted to hear Scorpius say it.

“You honestly can’t tell?” Scorpius murmured in disbelief.

“You were awfully quiet. One has to really wonder when Scorpius Malfoy is quiet,” Albus teased.

Scorpius gave him another slow wet kiss, gently sweeping the inside of Albus’ mouth with his tongue. “I can taste my come in your mouth,” Scorpius drawled sensually. “If you still think you’re doing it wrong, then _fuck_ , I’d like to know what happens when you do it right.”

Albus was already red in the face from his exertions, but somehow, Scorpius managed to make him blush harder. “You taste so good, baby,” Albus moaned.

Scorpius made a sour face and shook his head, but it wasn’t about the flavor of his essence. “Erm… no. Just… no. Not _baby_.” 

“I was just trying it out,” Albus said, pouting slightly.

“Anything but _baby_. Hell, even _arsehole_ or _dorkface_ sound more endearing. Douchebags call their significant others _baby_. You, Albus, are not a douchebag.”

Albus was glad that he was not a _douchebag_ in Scorpius’ eyes, despite all he’d done in the past to deserve that label.

Before Albus could come up with another pet name, the door to the boys’ dorms opened.

It was Neville, again, making an ill-timed entrance. “Albus and Scorpius! If you’re in here, I swear to bloody Merlin, I am telling your parents about your shenanigans! And then I’m going to murder you both!”

Albus panicked and hid beneath the covers. It was Scorpius’ bed, after all. “Answer him,” Albus whispered.

“Erm, just taking a nap, Professor Longbottom,” Scorpius said, lying horribly as ever, “Alone. Not with Albus. Not that that’s something we ever do together. Albus must be in the loo or something.”

Neville wrenched open the curtains and admonished Scorpius. “Have you any idea what time it is? Have you no idea what you put everyone through when you can’t be found?”

Scorpius hesitated before replying. “I, erm… Those are rhetorical questions, right? I’m not expected to actually answer.”

Exasperated, Neville sighed. “It’s well past noon. You were supposed to be in the Great Hall for lunch. After what happened yesterday, I have to expect the worst when you’re late.”

Scorpius gasped. He sounded genuinely remorseful. “Oh bugger. I’m sorry. We forgot. Erm, I mean _I_ forgot. There is no _we_.”

“You can come out, Albus. I can see your feet,” said Neville, not amused.

Scorpius laughed nervously. “What ever do you mean, Professor? These are _my_ feet. See? I’m wiggling my toes.” He kicked Albus gently, and Albus wiggled his feet, but knew it was pointless to keep up with this charade.

“If those are your feet, Scorpius, then you have serious problems. They’re pointing the wrong way,” said Neville.

Albus climbed out from under the covers and smiled meekly. “Sorry, Neville. Erm, I mean, Professor.”

Neville sighed again, and this time he sounded worn down. “Look, I don’t really care if you’re going to mess around with each other on your own time. Technically, you’re adults now, and that’s your prerogative. But you can’t keep acting like the rules don’t pertain to you. These rules are in place so we can keep track of where everybody is at a given time – students _and_ staff. And if we don’t know where you are, we are going to assume you’ve been attacked, or you’ve fallen ill, or you’re dead.”

Albus and Scorpius silently hung their heads in shame. Albus truly felt guilty. Neville must have been under so much pressure to keep his friends’ kids safe, and it was just awful of Albus to be so thoughtless and selfish.

Quietly, Neville said, “Get dressed and go down to The Great Hall. I still have to find Zenith. You don’t happen to know where she is, do you?”

“The last time I saw her was maybe an hour ago in the common room,” said Scorpius, “She was just getting up from a nap.”

“If you need help finding her, I can join you,” Albus offered, hoping to redeem himself somehow.

“That’s alright, Al. But thank you,” said Neville.

 

When they joined the others in the Great Hall, lunch was already in progress.

Lily rose from her seat to further admonish them, particularly her brother. “You fucking _pricks_. I know you haven’t been out patrolling, apathetic snakes that you are. Which leads me to believe you’ve been wanking off in the dorms while we’re all here panicking that three people are missing.”

 

Though Lily was not terribly far from the truth, Albus still shot back. “Well, if certain people hadn’t insisted on being juvenile heroes and hadn’t suggested that kids go out looking for zombies, then all of us would be safe in Ravenclaw Tower right now, and we wouldn’t be flipping our shit every time somebody came back late, because we’d already be together in one place.”

“Take a seat,” McGonagall commanded, “Both of you. Now. And mind your language, Mister Potter.”

Only then did Albus realize that Scorpius had already sat down next to Bryce. Albus glared at his sister all the way to his seat beside Scorpius. She was so annoyingly Gryffindor lately.

McGonagall continued whatever she had been addressing prior to Albus’ and Scorpius’ arrival. She turned her attention to Lysander. “Mister Scamander. You were saying – you’d left Zenith in the Hospital Wing with a medi-witch. But there is no medi-witch on staff at the moment.”

Lysander looked completely unable to handle being questioned. Albus knew that Lysander did very poorly under pressure. Lily was rubbing Lysander's back to try to calm him down, but he started to slowly rock back and forth in his seat.

“I saw her. I _saw_ her. I even talked to her, and she talked to me. She said her name was Madam Delphi.”

Bryce interjected in an accusatory tone, which Albus knew would only make Lysander shut down. “You’re a liar. You left Zenith there alone. You _left_ her. _Alone_.”

Lysander whimpered and held his face in his hands as he rocked. “I swear; I didn’t. I would never. I would have stayed, but Zenith and Madam Delphi both told me to leave. They told me to _leave_.”

“Was she a ghost, perhaps?” Lily proposed, “This Madam Delphi?” 

Lysander stilled and slowly let his hands fall from his face. “Maybe she was… She was dressed all in white. Her hair was this odd color. Silvery blue. Like a ghost…”

“That’s bollocks,” scoffed Bryce, “Lily’s just trying to make excuses for her boyfriend’s mistake, but she knows Lysander left her there alone.”

“Oh, fuck you, Zabini. You left her too,” Lily pointed out, “You think nobody heard you apologize to her fifty times for leaving?”

“Language, Miss Potter!” McGonagall admonished.

“It was only for a minute. I didn’t go far, and I came back straight away,” Bryce said in his defense.

“Zenith said she forgives you,” Lysander interjected. Everyone turned their attention back to him. “She told me to tell you, Bryce.”

Albus thought there was something very eerie about that fact, and from the expression on everyone’s face, they thought so too. Why wouldn’t Zenith tell Bryce that in person?

Just then, Professor Patil came into the room. “I checked the Hospital Wing. Looks like it was ransacked. But no sign of Zenith.”

“She was looking for things. She’s on her period,” Lysander explained.

Bryce made an incredulous face. “How the Hell do _you_ know?”

“She told me,” Lysander answered, “She asked me to go with her to the Hospital Wing because it’s her time of the month and she needed stuff.”

“I doubt that,” Professor Patil said flatly. “There were boxes of tampons and pads on the floor.”

“You see? He’s lying,” Bryce affirmed.

Lysander started to cry, and Albus honestly felt sorry for him.

“Didn’t you see Madam Delphi there?” Lysander desperately asked Professor Patil.

The professor looked confused as she shook her head. “No, there was nobody there.”

Lysander sobbed and started to rock in his seat again. “I’m telling the truth. I’m telling the _truth_.”

“Maybe Zenith wasn’t,” Scorpius proposed. “Maybe Zenith wasn’t telling the truth.”

Albus glanced at him, surprised that he would say something in Lysander’s defense.

Scorpius elaborated, and seemed to be piecing together his theory as he went along, assembling seemingly unrelated facts together, “Maybe Zenith was sick. I mean, she was in her room, napping all morning, right? Maybe Zenith was _sick,_ sick. Like… Dark Virus, _sick_. She was attacked yesterday. Who’s to say that she didn’t catch the virus from that Cursed One? And if the Cursed One was in the owlery, undetected, then who’s to say that there wasn’t also a witch in the Hospital Wing? Either the wards were breached, or there have been people inside the castle this whole time that we don’t know about.”

There was a long silence as everyone seemed to weigh this as a strong possibility.

Finally, McGonagall declared, “We need to go on lockdown again. I want every student in Ravenclaw Tower, right now. I want all the professors and Mrs. Longbottom to keep searching the castle and grounds.”

“No. No bloody way,” Lily protested. “I’m not going to sit around while one of us is missing and there’s a strange person in the castle. None of us should. Every last one of us needs to be searching. If the wards are broken somewhere, we need to find that break. And if Zenith is _sick_ out there… we really need to find her ASAP.”

Neville entered the Great Hall just in time to concur. “I agree. I missed the part about how you came to the conclusion that Zenith is infected, but I agree we all need to be looking for her.”

Headmistress McGonagall relented with a sigh. “Very well. Students, you know the deal. Groups of two or more. Arm yourselves. We will all report back to the Great Hall at the top of every hour. Dismissed.”

The sound of chairs being pushed back along the stone floor, some grudgingly so, echoed through the Great Hall.

“Hold it. I’ll assign the groups,” Neville insisted.

Albus glanced at Scorpius with wide eyes. He knew what was coming and clasped Scorpius’ hand in preparation.

“Albus and Lily, you’re a team. Scorpius and Lysander, you’re a team,” Neville declared, much to the noisy protest of all four of them. “You need to stay on task. We can’t afford to have you slacking off to go snog somewhere, so I’m splitting up the couples.”

Scorpius looked positively mortified by the thought of being paired with Lysander, and Albus did not blame him. “Nooooo!” he groaned, clinging to Albus’ arm, practically climbing him like a tree.

“Lorcan and Rose, you’re a team,” Neville said, “Louis and Hugo, take Bryce – You should have another set of ears.”

Everyone suited up in protective quidditch gear and took up a preferred weapon. Mrs. Longbottom, Albus, Scorpius, and Bryce all took bows and quivers of arrows. Neville, Lorcan, Lily, Louis, and Hugo took swords. Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Patil both strapped on leather sashes fitted with knives.

Rose took up a large leather bound book. When Lily questioned her, Rose explained, “Knowledge is power… It’s also very heavy.” She swung the book menacingly, but everyone was still worried that she was not well protected. Lily shoved a sheathed knife in Rose’s pocket.

And lastly, Lysander took up no arms at all. “I am morally opposed to it,” he insisted.

“Like Hell, you are!” Scorpius protested, “You are not fucking partnering with me unarmed. You need to have my back, so take something. Anything.”

“Please, Ly. Take something,” said Lily. “I don’t trust this arsehole to protect you.” She gave Scorpius a disdainful glance.

Scorpius gaped at her indignantly, thought she was entirely right. Albus knew that Scorpius would never risk his life for Lysander.

Lily picked up a steel foil and thrust it into Lysander’s hands. Lysander took it gingerly, as if it were a foreign object to him and not a weapon he’d been training to use for weeks.

Neville then assigned a search quadrant to each team before McGonagall dismissed them.

“It’s nearly one o’clock, so let’s just plan on reconvening at two,” she announced, “Be safe.” 

Scorpius threw his arms around Albus. “Don’t leave me,” he whimpered. Albus could sense that this was no longer about Scorpius being thrust into partnership with his current boyfriend’s ex boyfriend. Scorpius was truly afraid.

Albus hugged him in return, but with less of a vice like grip. Of course he didn’t want to be separated from Scorpius. He had not been away from Scorpius for more than five minutes in the past month. The thought of not being in the immediate vicinity of his other half made him inwardly panic. And the fact that he could not be there for Scorpius when he was so clearly terrified just made his heart break. Furthermore, he didn’t trust Lysander was capable of protecting Scorpius. But maybe, Scorpius would be able to defend himself. He really was a skilled archer.

Albus held Scorpius’ cheeks in his hands and said, “Stay out of trouble. If you get into a bind and can’t get back to The Great Hall, I’ll come find you.”

“Promise?” Scorpius asked.

“Promise,” Albus assured him. “If you’re not here by two, I’ll go back out to get you.” Then he kissed Scorpius. He didn’t want to kiss him too hard, because that would mean he wasn’t sure they’d see each other in an hour. So he pecked him on the lips a few times. “See you later, erm… honey,” Albus said, tentatively.

Scorpius scrunched up his face. “Ugh. Not _honey._ Who are you, my mum?”

“I’ll find something. You just wait. It’ll be perfect,” Albus said.

“Boys, let’s go,” Neville urged them apart.

Albus ran ahead to catch up with his sister and shouted back at Scorpius, “Pookie? Snookums?” He was joking, of course.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Still no better than _arsehole_ or _dorkface_.”

“See you later, my sweet dorkface!”

 

The search had been fruitless. Each subsequent time that the teams reconvened in the Great Hall to report that Zenith had not been found, seemed to heighten the sense of danger. It became increasingly likely that Zenith would not be recovered unharmed.

When McGonagall allowed them a respite from patrols for dinner, Albus and Scorpius took full advantage of their time together. Scorpius practically sat in Albus’ lap and fed him boiled potatoes between stolen kisses. Albus didn’t bother to point out that Scorpius had often criticized Lysander and Lily for doing the same thing.

Bryce, who sat next to them, did not even recoil from the unabashed display of public affection between two boys, nor did he question this new development. He seemed rather distant and distraught over Zenith’s disappearance.

In fact, nobody seemed to care that Albus and Scorpius had suddenly gone from being _bros_ to being boyfriends. There was just too much else going on at the moment, which took precedence over the romantic entanglements of teenagers.

 

“Could the Cursed One in the owlery have come through one of the secret passageways? Aren’t there a dozen of them into the castle?” Lily speculated.

“Not likely,” said Neville, “They’re warded as well. If anything came through, it would have set off the alarms.”

“And what about that medi-witch that Lysander saw? Could she have apparated into the castle?” Lily asked.

Rose responded, never looking up from her book or her dinner, “The enchantments on the castle prevent anyone from apparting in or out. You should know that, Lils.”

Scorpius chimed in proudly, “Oh! I read in _Hogwarts: A Recent History_ that the anti-apparition enchantments were reinforced after the Second Wizarding War to include all of Hogwarts grounds.”

“So maybe she flew in.” Lily proposed.

“She had to have already been in the castle before quarantine,” said Professor Patil. “Professor Lupin and I put up an aerial shield around the entire property to keep out contaminants. It would have been broken by anyone flying in, and an alarm would have sounded.”

“Is it possible that we just didn’t hear the alarm?” Albus suggested.

“No, it’s a very pervasive sound,” said Neville, “Kind of like this…” He took a deep breath through his mouth and was about to make a noise, when a hollow snarl echoed through the Great Hall. Startled by the sound that did not come from his mouth, he swung around in his seat, as did everyone else.

The sound was coming from just inside the doorway. It was Zenith.

Bryce leapt from his seat and ran toward her. “Zenith! We were so worried. Where were you?” Then he stopped short, halfway to the doorway. It quickly became apparent why.

“Zabini, get back!” McGonagall commanded, just as Zenith raised her arms toward Bryce and hissed.

Grey skin hung loosely on Zenith’s sunken face. Her pupils were yellow and the whites of her eyes were marred by black capillaries. Her neck was collared with bruises and thick, branching, black veins. She bared her teeth menacingly and charged toward Bryce, who stood frozen in shock. She clawed into the front of his robes with animal hunger, just as Professor Patil pulled him out of Zenith’s grasp. Patil dispatched her backwards with a swift roundhouse kick.

Lysander let out a horrified scream. “No!” He started to move toward the scene, but Lily held him back.

Neville sprung into action, swiping a sword from the weapons table. Zenith had fallen back, but was still reaching determinately for Bryce, or anyone for that matter, and was clumsily trying to stand. Neville swung the heavy steel in a wide arc aimed at Zenith’s neck.

Lysander screamed again. “Stop! How could you?!”

Neville hesitated, and in that moment, Zenith managed to sit up. But Professor Patil kicked her back down with a booted foot on the girl’s chest.

“Don’t hurt her!” Lysander implored hysterically. Both Lily and Lorcan had to hold him back.

Hanna and Teddy had joined Neville and Professor Patil with their weapons, obscuring Albus’ view of the scene. Headmistress McGonagall pulled Bryce out of the fray and herded all the students away from danger, rushing them to the other end of the Great Hall, her wand drawn defensively. Scorpius clung to Albus with fear, so vehemently that he was nearly choked.

Lysander pleaded with McGonagall, still hysterical, “Please don’t let them hurt her. She’s still Zenith. Our friend. Don’t let them kill her.” 

“She’s already dead,” said Scorpius, unsympathetically, a bit hysterical himself.

But it was true. Zenith had become one of The Cursed.

“She’s still _human_ ,” Lysander insisted.

Albus remembered his father saying something similar about The Cursed. But seeing Zenith like this - gruesomely disfigured, writhing like a soulless creature - it was difficult to find any humanity left in her.

Lysander’s sentiments seemed to strike a chord with Headmistress McGonagall. “Professors, wait!”

The wizards around Zenith paused, the undead girl still restrained on the floor beneath several boot-clad feet.

McGonagall made several quick gestures with her wand, sending all the wooden chairs into the air. “Professor Lupin, your assistance please. We need a cage.”


	9. Chapter 9

_DAY 1 OF THE SIEGE_

Though Zenith had been found, or rather, had found them, patrols continued.  Not that Lily thought they should stop patrolling now that Zenith was in a makeshift cage in the Great Hall.  In fact, Lily would have kept on patrolling through the night – anything to atone for her oversight.  She felt partially to blame for Zenith’s fate.  If she had done a more thorough job of inspecting Zenith during communal showers, maybe she would have seen signs that Zenith was sick, and maybe something could have been done to prevent Zenith from becoming Cursed.

Immediately after breakfast the next day, the teams set out to search the castle for the mysterious witch Lysander had seen in the Hospital Wing, or for any signs of a break in the wards. Lily wished she had not been stuck with her brother as a patrol partner.  Albus had been behaving like a selfish prat lately.  All he seemed to care about was himself and his best friend – his _boyfriend_ , rather.  

Lily rolled her eyes at the thought of Albus and Scorpius taking so long to get together.

“So. You and Scorpius. Why now, after years of being so obviously keen on each other?” Lily wondered, as she and Albus slowly made their way up the stairs of Gryffindor Tower.

“It’s… complicated,” muttered Albus.

Lily grinned wryly. “You sound like dad.”  

“Oh, shut it.  I do not.”  Albus pouted, as if it were an insult to be likened to Harry Potter.

“You know, if you hadn’t been such an idiot and recognized that your best mate was hot for you, and you had gone after the boy you actually wanted, maybe you would have spared poor Lysander’s heart,” Lily said, bitterly. 

“You don’t think I know that?” Albus snapped.  “I told you, it’s more complicated than that.  Stop being so self-righteous for a second and try to see things from my perspective,” he chided her.  He took a calming breath and then elaborated on what that perspective was.  “Scorpius was my best mate since we were First Years. We practically grew up together. He’s more of a brother to me than our own arsehole brother.  Can’t you see why we’d be reluctant to get into a relationship?  There’s a lot more at stake.”

Lily considered it, holding her chin between her fingers to show that she was really thinking about it. But then she shook her head and said matter-of-factly, “No.  You’re both idiots.  You bloody deserve each other.  And Ly didn’t deserve to be the second choice that you settled for.” 

“Ugh, this again?” Albus gave an exasperated groan and threw his hands up, “Do you want me to suffer for the rest of my life to make up for what I did to Lysander?  It was ages ago, Lils.  Get over it.  _He_ has.  He’s moved on, in fact.  With my _sister,_ no less.  Did you ever stop to think about how that would make me feel?  It was, what, two months after Lysander and I broke up that you started fucking him?  I mean, seriously?  Get off your high horse.”

Lily scoffed, “Oh, so now you care?  You didn’t care then.”

Albus shot back heatedly, “I don’t care who either of you are fucking, to be honest.  But I do care that you never even gave a thought to how it would make me feel.  Like I’m nobody to you.  Like I’m not even related to you.  You never bothered to ask me if it was alright until long after the fact.”

“I didn’t need your permission,” Lily asserted shortly.

“No, you didn’t,” Albus readily agreed, yet still at a heightened emotional state,  “But I needed to know that you had my back as my sister. And right now, I don’t think you do.”

Albus’ words punched Lily in the stomach.  She stopped ascending the stairs and took a long breath.   Then she spoke softly to refute what her brother had said. “Albie… Of course I have your back.”

Albus’ frown did not budge. “Well, if that’s the case, you have a really shitty way of showing it.”

They continued up the stairs and reached the doors to the Gryffindor common room.  The portrait of the Singing Lady guarding the entrance insisted on the password. 

“It’s peanut butter jelly time,” mumbled Lily.

Albus snorted. “Seriously?  That’s the password?”

“Come on.  Do the little dance,” The Singing Lady urged. “I’ve been starved for entertainment around here.”

Lily dropped her face into her palm and sighed.  “Gods, don’t make me do this,” she groaned, and then admonished Professor Longbottom in his absence, “Neville, I fucking hate you. You are the cruelest head of house in Gryffindor history.”

The portrait of the Singing Lady gasped indignantly.  “Such language, child!  Maybe I won’t let you in.”

“Come on, Lily,” Albus drawled melodically with a smug grin, likely relishing Lily’s embarrassment, “Do the dance.”

Lily relented. Unhappily, she moved her arms in front of her like she was pushing a trolley, bent her legs at the knees, and bounced as she spoke the password rhythmically.  “It’s peanut butter jelly time. It’s peanut butter jelly time.” She immediately straightened and spat, “Happy?” 

Albus burst into cruel laughter.  “Now I know why I’m not a Gryffindor.”

The portrait giggled gleefully as she swung open.  “Oh Godric, that never gets old.”

They stepped inside and Albus seemed to take it all in slowly.  Lily realized that it was his first time in the Gryffindor dorms.   And now that she was more conscious of Albus’ feelings, she watched him carefully. 

Soon it became clear from Albus’ expression that it was hurting him to be there – where their whole family had been before, except for Albus. 

She nudged him and asked gently, “You okay, Albie?”

He nodded silently. Lily was not convinced.  Albus was walking a slow circle around the common room, gazing at the tapestries and the giant chandelier that hung from the lofty ceiling, running his hand along the plush sofas – all richly detailed in gold and burgundy.

“So… This is Gryffindor, hm?” he remarked softly.  He took a seat at one of the high backed chairs in front of a wood game table with a black and white checked granite top.  He seemed to look upon it with reverence, smoothing his hands over the stone. “This is where dad would lose to Uncle Ron at wizard’s chess.” 

“Mm hm,” Lily confirmed, barely audibly.  She knew all of their father’s stories, and knew where every one of them had taken place.

Albus looked up and pointed to a loveseat within a cozy reading nook.  “That’s where mum used to snog her boyfriends.”

“Yep,” said Lily with a small chuckle.  “What a slag,” she joked.  She knew her mother’s stories as well.

Albus got up and examined a wooden chair.  There were conspicuous dark stains in the pale wood, and he fingered them as he mused, “I bet this is where granddad’s jumper accidentally caught fire.” 

“The exact chair. Still here after all these years,” said Lily.  Arthur Weasley had stories for his grandchildren too. 

Lily thought it was safe to point out other family artifacts.  “Come check this out,” she gestured at her brother to follow her to one of the fireplaces.  She bent down, looked up at the underside of the stone that overhung the mantle, and shined some wand light upon it.  “Grandfather’s initials, dad’s godfather’s initials, and Teddy’s dad’s initials.” The letters _JP, SB,_ and _RL_ defaced the stone. Another set of initials had been scratched off. 

Albus bent to look at it. “Cool,” he said distantly.  He went to sit down on a nearby couch, crossed his arms about him tightly, and he began to silently cry. 

Lily sat next to him. Her brother had always been emotional. Not that she held it against him. It must have really _sucked_ to be Albus Potter sometimes, the Slytherin son of The Chosen One.  She put her arm across Albus’ shoulder and rested the side of her head on his.  She didn’t talk.  She knew that wasn’t what he needed right then. 

She and Albus had grown a bit distant ever since the whole Lysander thing, but until then they had been close. Even still, they were closer to each other than either of them were to James.  It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Lily to comfort Albus like she was doing now.

Albus sniffled and spoke with a small voice.  “So much history.  So much I’m not a part of.  I mean, I learned to love Slytherin – my friends, my team, my house.  I’m proud of us.  But… I don’t have that Slytherin family legacy behind me.  Not like Scor or Bryce.  My family legacy is here… where I never was, where I will never be.  Part of me will always feel like I don’t entirely belong… anywhere or to anyone.  I’m just this… anomaly.”

Lily knew that Albus had always felt like an outsider.  But to Lily, he seemed to revel in being unique, in being separate from the rest of the family. His individuality sometimes came off as superiority. Being Slytherin, and to an extent, being gay, made Albus stand out amongst all the Potters – and he never even had to try.  Meanwhile, Lily had always felt like she had to work so hard to be seen as somebody special, and not just another kid from the enormous Gryffindor Weasley brood.

Albus was showing a side of himself that he did not often show to anyone else – a part that Lily had thought he’d grown out of.  Maybe Lily could forgive Albus for behaving like a prat, because now she could see where it was coming from – not from selfishness or arrogance, but from Albus’ inability to find his place.

After sitting in silence, punctuated by Albus’ soft sounds of crying, Lily finally said, “You belong to _us_.  You belong to me, and mum, and dad, and even James.  Screw the names, the history, the legacy – that doesn’t matter.  The past may be behind you, but it doesn’t have your back.  _I_ have your back, Albie.”

Albus’ watery eyes met hers. He cracked a small smile.  And he hugged her.  “And I’ve got yours, Lils.”

Lily grinned.  It was good to have her big brother again.  With renewed confidence, Lily pat Albus on the shoulder and said, “Let’s do a quick sweep of Gryffindor Tower and move on to Ravenclaw Tower before the top of the hour.”

 

 

_MEANWHILE_

_We should move on_ , said Louis to Hugo, in the language of his hands.

Hugo nodded and called after Bryce.  Louis watched Hugo form the words with his lips.  “Bryce, we should go.” 

  

It had always been easy to read Hugo’s lips, though they rarely moved, for Hugo was the quiet sort. His lips were full and expressive when he did talk.  Hugo and his sister, Rose, shared the same enviable, dark, plump lips, gifted to them by their mother, though Rose’s lips were often obscured behind a book. 

Louis’ own mouth was thin-lipped and pale, and not as appealing in his opinion.  Not that Louis was looking at his cousins’ lips in an inappropriate way.  It was just that Louis had to really study people’s lips to be able to understand what they were saying.

Bryce Zabini had lips very much like Hugo and Rose, owing to their similar blended ethnicity.  And Bryce’s lips, Louis _had_ found appealing.  He was positive that Bryce was straight, but there was no harm in admiring such a pretty boy, especially when Louis had no further intentions.

  

In The Great Hall stood Bryce, in front of a wooden cage that held the Cursed One that used to be Zenith.  Though it was clear to Louis that Zenith had ceased to exist within the animated corpse, Bryce couldn’t seem to let go.  Bryce was transfixed upon the creature in the box, in a forlorn daze.   He did not appear to hear Hugo calling from the doorway.  Impatient, Louis rolled his eyes and walked over to Bryce. Hugo quickly followed. 

Perhaps smelling the presence of more flesh to eat, the Cursed One clawed at the wooden slats of the cage, its fingernails protruding from torn lace gloves.  Louis took Bryce by the arm and tried to tug him back.

Bryce snapped out of his morbid reverie to indignantly glance at Louis’ hand on his arm.  “Tell your cousin to back the fuck off, Hugo.”

Hugo replied, “He can read your lips.  Talk to him yourself.”  Louis was facing Hugo and could see him form the words with his mouth.

“Take your hand off me, freak,” said Bryce, before returning his attention to the cage.

 _Ugh_.  Bryce may have been pretty on the outside, but his demeanor was quite unattractive.

Louis signed and made a face to show his displeasure.  _Bryce is calling me a freak?  He is the freak obsessed with a dead girl._

Hugo’s shoulders moved when he laughed.  Then he asked with his hands, _Why does he care anyway?  He only wanted to sleep with her.  Zenith liked his attention but she did not like him._

Hugo was a very observant person.  People who didn’t talk much were good at interpreting the nuances of people’s behavior. But Louis was even better at this than Hugo, for Louis had to watch much more astutely in the absence of sound.

Louis responded, _I think that changed the day before she died.  I could see it in their eyes.  The way they looked at each other.  They were..._ Louis could not find the proper signs to convey exactly what he wanted to say, so he spoke them as best he could.  “…on the verge of falling in love.”

 _That’s sad_ , Hugo signed.

Louis agreed with a frown and a nod.

“I shouldn’t have left you…,” Bryce said to Zenith, or perhaps to her memory.  Louis watched Bryce’s lips form the words over and over like a mantra.  “I shouldn’t have left you…”

“You need to leave her now. She’s gone,” Louis spoke.

 

Eventually, the three shuffled out of The Great Hall and headed up to the next location on their patrol route, Memorial Tower.  Not only did it make a good lookout point, it was a favorable location if one wanted to access any other wing of the castle. Bridges jutted from different levels of the tower, connecting the tower to all of Hogwarts.

 

Memorial Tower had been erected to honor those that had perished in The Battle of Hogwarts during The Seconding Wizarding War.  The winding staircase within the tower was made of stone that bore the names of the dead, carved into the steps in the approximate chronological order in which they died. 

Not only the names of those who fought on the winning side were memorialized. All who died at Hogwarts were remembered. Engraved into the last step at the top of the tower was the name _Tom M. Riddle_.  Many students were superstitious and would skip that step, taking two at once to reach the top.  But Louis’ father taught him that to fear the name was to uphold Lord Voldemort’s legacy of terror, and that was not what was intended when the memorial had been built. 

 

Both Louis and Hugo used the top step.  Bryce hesitated, but eventually stepped on it.

The top of the tower was an open-air circle enclosed by an ornate iron balustrade, painted with gold leaf that could be seen from a mile away when glinting in the sun on a clear day. But it was cloudy today, and mist hung low over the grounds like a white shroud.  The rails of the balustrade were about chest-high on Louis and safe to lean on, but it always felt precarious to be so high up from the ground, especially when the wind was blowing.  Thankfully, the air was fairly still at the moment.

With the naked eye, anyone walking on the stone court below appeared to be the size of a bug.  Louis had his usual omniocculars hanging from his neck and his sword in a scabbard strapped to his back.  With the aid of his omniocculars, Louis could identify a moving pair of people walking across one of the bridges. 

It was Albus and Lily heading toward Ravenclaw Tower.  They were walking side-by-side.  If the siblings were still fighting Lily would have been walking ahead of Albus.  They must have reconciled.  Louis was glad, and he smiled.  He did not like to see his family divided in any way, even if it was just a subtle thing like Albus and Lily not getting on as well as they used to.

Louis passed the omniocculars to Hugo, who was gesturing at him for a turn.  With his unaided eyes, Louis spotted another pair of moving figures on the green knoll.  He tapped Hugo’s shoulder and pointed at the figures.  Hugo aimed the omniocculars at the hill to investigate.

“Hanna and Neville,” Hugo declared.

Bryce rested his folded arms on the balustrade and slumped broodingly. “Can we go now?” he asked, “There is fuck-all to see up here. Nothing happening but the wind blowing in the Whomping Willow.”

Louis followed Bryce’s eyes to the enormous enchanted willow tree at the bottom of the knoll.  It was indeed swaying, and quite animatedly at that. But there was no wind.  None of the other trees were moving.  Louis’ hair barely fluttered in the ever-so-slight breeze at their high altitude.

Louis tapped Hugo on the shoulder and put his hand out to retrieve his omniocculars.  When he focused the lenses on the Whomping Willow, he saw the branches of the tree moving in a swatting motion.  What it was batting away, Louis could not tell, for a heavy layer of fog swirled at the tree’s base.  It couldn’t have been The Longbottoms agitating the tree, for they had been walking in another direction.  Louis kept watching.

Bryce impatiently tugged on Louis’ sleeve at his shoulder.  Louis turned to face him.  Bryce exaggerated as he mouthed his words.  “Nothing happening. Move on.”

Louis spoke in his own voice, “I’m deaf.  I’m not stupid.  You look stupid when you talk like that.”  He did not look for Bryce’s response, and instead returned his attention to the Whomping Willow.

The branches were moving with increasingly more fervor, enough that they were actually sweeping away the mist.  Figures at the base of the tree could be seen faintly, but it was still unclear what they were.

What Louis saw when the mist finally cleared, filled him with dread.  Through the omniocculars, he saw The Cursed – about twenty of them, stumbling around the tree, and more clawing out of a hole in the willow’s trunk. The tree was trying to flick them away. Even Hugo could see something wrong with his naked eyes, and Louis felt his cousin squeeze his arm tightly in fear.

Louis let the omniocculars fall from his eyes to hang loosely around his neck.  He used his hands to communicate as quickly as he could with Hugo.

 _The Cursed.  They are here,_ Louis signed.

 _They must have come through the passageway from Hogsmeade_ , Hugo speculated.

 _Is the alarm sounding from the wards?_ Louis asked, but he had already guessed that they were not.

 _I don’t hear anything,_ Hugo confirmed.

The two cousins stared at one another, frozen in shock.  Louis was breathing hard, his heart pounding painfully in his tight chest.  The helplessness and fear he felt was suffocating.  He was afraid for The Longbottoms who were down there, so close to danger, too far to receive any kind of warning.  And he was afraid for _everyone_ , for The Cursed had arrived and had already outnumbered the living.

“Can you two talk like normal people?  I don’t know what you’re saying,” said Bryce. 

Hugo pointed a trembling finger and said, “Bryce.  The Cursed. Down by the Whomping Willow.” 

Bryce looked over the balustrade to see for himself.  Instead of fear, Bryce responded with rage.  “You bastards killed Zenith,” he said, as he took up his bow and arrow and began to shoot at the Cursed Ones on the ground.  Understandably, Bryces arrows missed, as it was difficult to aim from such a high tower.

Louis clutched Bryce’s elbow and said, “We’re too far.  Save your arrows.”  Then he signed to Hugo, _We have to warn the others.  We have to tell McGonagall_.

Hugo nodded firmly in agreement and then closed his eyes.  For a moment, Louis thought that Hugo was shutting down out of crippling fear. But he saw his cousin tighten his grip on his wand, and knew magic was about to happen.  Louis took a step back to give Hugo some room. 

When Hugo opened his eyes, he took a deep breath, pointed his wand at the sky, and incanted, “ _Expecto patronum!”_

A spark jumped from Hugo’s wand, but nothing else.  He repeated, “ _Expecto patronum!_ ”  Still, only just a flash of electric magic fizzled out of his wand and fell.  Hugo glanced at Louis, his brow furrowed with worry and fading confidence.

 

Louis was capable of a lot of magic, even though his deafness and resultant speech impediment made it challenging for him to effectively pronounce incantations. There were many spells that could be done by just focusing on the words in his own mind, and some that needed only intention and precise wand movements.  To conjure a Patronus was hard enough for the average wizard to do, and for Louis, it was impossible.  But Hugo - humble, unassuming, quiet Hugo - was more capable than other wizards who boasted of their own prowess, and Louis knew this.

  

Louis’ hands moved swiftly to lend support to his cousin, his expression fierce with encouragement. _You are stronger than anyone knows.  You are a powerful wizard.  You are the son of heroes. You can do it, Hugo.  I believe in you.  This is magic I cannot do.  Only you can. We need you._

“ _Expecto patronum!_ ”  Hugo thrust his wand in the air with ferocious force, and a glittering silver otter erupted from the tip.  “The Cursed are coming from The Whomping Willow!”

Louis knew that, if Hugo’s Patronus could sustain itself, it would fly all around Hogwarts to deliver this message faster than they could run.  The silver otter dove down the outside of the tower and disappeared into a window.  Louis closed his eyes and sent a plea to the universe from his heart.  _Merlin, help us…_

  

_MEANWHILE_

 

Scorpius walked through the ground floor corridor, his bow in one hand, and an arrow in the other, ready for anything. Well, _theoretically_ ready, at least. Not trusting that Lysander would have his back, Scorpius let the other boy walk ahead of him. If something or someone came for them from the front, Lysander would meet it first, and Scorpius would presumably have enough time to react with his weapon. Idiot pacifist that Lysander was, he could not be expected to lift his sword against an oncoming assailant.

They reached the stairs that went down to the dungeon level and Lysander hesitated.  “Are we really going down there?” he asked, skeptical and fearful.

“Don’t be such a scared-y cat,” Scorpius scoffed.  He insisted, more out of impatience than to reassure his unwanted companion, “It’s just the Slytherin dorms down there.  Nothing sinister.” 

“…said no Slytherin, ever,” Lysander muttered, amending Scorpius’ sentence.

Lysander took a step toward the stairwell, when suddenly, a shout echoed in the corridor behind them. They both flung around.  Scorpius felt a rush of terror searing down his spine, and somehow still managed to react defensively.  He trembled as he notched his arrow in his bow and lifted it in the direction of the swiftly approaching sound.  Then a small, wispy, silver figure whizzed past them, flying through the ground floor corridor, bellowing something that sounded like _willow_.

Scorpius exhaled shortly and relaxed his bow and arrow.  “Stupid ghost.”

“Haven’t seen that one before,” Lysander mused, “Cute little ghostie.”

“Come on, let’s go,” Scorpius urged Lysander to descend the stairs.

“But The Bloody Barron is down there,” Lysander protested meekly.  “Not such a cute little ghostie.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes as he brushed past Lysander to take the lead down the stairs.  The torch lamps were lit, lighting their way down the narrow corridor.  Scorpius was on such high alert that the once familiar torchlights now made him flinch at every moving shadow.  He moved quickly through the corridor, past the old, unused Potions classroom, until he reached the end, where a huge portrait of Severus Snape hung in a small vestibule.

 

To the right of Snape’s portrait was a wider, fairly well lit corridor that led to the Slytherin dormitories.

To the left of Snape’s portrait was an abysmally dark, very narrow corridor, barely shoulder width. 

For as long as Scorpius had been at Hogwarts, the corridor to the left of the portrait had never been lit. But he knew that through the doorway was a labyrinth of secret passages.  And because he and Albus liked to skinny dip after curfew, Scorpius was one of the few who knew that some of the passages could be taken up to a hatch that opened to the grounds, right by the Black Lake.  However, one had to flatter Snape’s portrait to navigate the maze-like passages, for it was charmed to remain dark, even under wand light, without the light from a torch that Snape’s portrait held close.

 

“Speaking of spooky and sinister…” Lysander remarked.

“What, over there? It’s a pretty cool secret passage, actually,” Scorpius boasted, “If you can get through it.”

“No, I was talking about him.”  Lysander gestured at Severus Snape’s portrait.  Professor Snape folded his arms, pursed his lips, and looked down at Lysander with displeasure. 

“Good morning, Professor,” Scorpius greeted Snape politely.  Snape acknowledged him with a small bow of his head. 

Lysander turned toward the secret corridor and shuddered.  “Gosh, it’s dark down there.  Like a passage to Hell.”

Scorpius grinned superiorly and was about to reveal the secret of where the passage led, but something jumped out of the darkness and lunged at them.  They leapt back as the thing reached out with bony fingers and opened its putrid mouth to snarl hungrily. Under the light above Snape’s portrait, Scorpius could see that the creature was more monster than human, with much of its skeleton exposed through rips in its loose, grey skin.  The horror was enough to send Snape, who was normally unmoved by anything, retreating out of his gilded frame.

The dead thing nearly had its hands on Lysander, but Scorpius yanked him back by the shirt collar just before the Cursed One could close its arms around the other boy, who appeared too stunned to flee.  Out of the dark passage poured out many more Cursed Ones, all practically stumbling over one another to squeeze through the narrow passage into the vestibule, effectively blocking the corridor from which Scorpius and Lysander had come.

Scorpius did not bother trying to shoot his bow and arrow.  Instead, he dove through the doorway to Snape’s right, into the corridor leading to the dorms.  He did not stop to see if Lysander was following, even when he shouted the password halfway down the passage.  “ _The surrender is slow and sweet, but the descent is quick and bitter_!”

The interweaving metal snakes hissed as they slid along the wood of the door and released the thick bolts that had locked it.

“Even your bloody password is sinister!” Lysander shouted after Scorpius as Cursed One’s pursued them.

The door swung open, its ancient hinges moaning like the dead things chasing them.  Scorpius and Lysander leaped into the common room and both pushed the door closed with the weight of their bodies.  Even after the locks clanged into place, they remained with their backs pasted to the door for a good minute, panting heavily. 

“What the fuck are we going to do now?” Scorpius lamented, entirely to himself.  He did not expect Lysander to have any answers.  Well, not any good ones, at least. 

“Maybe if we wait a few minutes, they’ll go away,” Lysander suggested, “Or maybe they’ll calm down. Then we can move really slow and sneak away.”

“Yeah, okay. Why don’t you try it, Lysander?” Scorpius responded facetiously, “Tell me how it goes.”

Scorpius could hear the hissing, snarling sounds of The Cursed through the thick door.  They were likely not going anywhere any time soon – neither The Cursed, nor Scorpius and Lysander.

Scorpius banged the back of his head on the door with frustration.  “We are so fucked.”

Completely unrelated, Lysander remarked, his eyes flitting to various parts of the room, “The Slytherin common room is a lot nicer than I imagined it.”  Then he suddenly gasped and moved off the door, pointing in front of him. 

Scorpius flinched and raised his bow and arrow. 

“Oh my stars!  Is that a giant fish tank?”  Lysander ran with childlike glee toward the glass wall at the other end of the common room.

Scorpius lowered his bow and arrow and gave an annoyed sigh.  “No, it is not a bloody _fish tank_.  It’s The Black Lake.  In case you haven’t noticed, we’re underground.”

Lysander splayed his hands on the glass and gazed through it with wonder.  “Wow… can we see grindylows through here?  Merpeople?” 

Scorpius answered jadedly, “Mm hm.  And water sprites.  And kelpies. And fresh water plimpies.  And—”

Lysander claped his hands together like a gleeful toddler and gave a shrill gasp, “The Giant Squid?!”

Scorpius’ eyes went to the ceiling as he mumbled, “Yes, Lysander.  The Giant Squid too.” 

Lysander covered his mouth to stifle an excited squeal.

  

 

_MEANWHILE_

  

Rose separated from Lorcan and moved toward the door to the library, pausing before entering, glancing back over her shoulder. “I need to stop in here for a minute.”

Lorcan did not have to squeeze by Rose to open the door for her.  He towered over her like some sort of Scandinavian deity, and could simply put his arm out and push the door with his wide hand.  Even though it was a polite gesture, it still felt intimidating to Rose. 

Lorcan scoffed, “Do you seriously need another book right now?”

“It’s important,” she asserted without needing to raise her voice, and flitted past him into the library.

He followed her in and left the door open.  Rose waved her wand to ignite the fires in the sconces, giving light to the room. She took a deep breath through her nose, savoring the distinct essence of old parchment and ink.  It had been too long since she had come _home_.

“How you’re able to study at a time like this is just beyond me,” remarked Lorcan, and from the tone of his voice, Rose knew it had not been intended as a compliment, however proud she was of her ability to focus under pressure.

“It’s what I do best,” she replied matter-of-factly.  “You had better wait here,” she suggested, as she made a beeline to the section of the library where Dark Arts books could be found. 

To all the other students, this was the Restricted Section.  To Rose Weasley, the librarian’s most cherished student, this was the Read At Your Own Discretion section.  Madam Miller may have once not-so accidentally let slip the location of an extra set of Restricted section keys, and may have once not-so accidentally uttered the password to the locked box in which the keys were kept.

Rose stopped at the metal box labeled _recycle parchment_ , uttered the password, and opened the box like a cabinet.  She pushed aside discarded rolls of paper to reveal a set of keys hanging on a hook inside the box.

Rose closed her hands around the keys with a relieved sigh.  She hadn’t been sure until that moment if the librarian had left the keys behind before she had evacuated. “Wherever you are, Madam Miller, thank you.”  

She hurried on to the shelves where dusty tomes were chained closed.  She used her wand for extra light and then came upon the precise book that she had hoped was in the collection – she had never had reason to find it until now.

 _Necromancy Practices and Death Rituals of Haiti, The Dominican Republic,_ _And The American Deep South,_ was an old book bound in alligator skin.  When she reached for it, it shuddered. It snarled the way Rose had heard Zenith snarl, as the cover tried to open against the chains. 

“Easy, there…,” she whispered, calming it. She brandished the keys.  “See?  I’ve got them.”

The tome stilled and quieted.  Rose carefully pulled the book from the shelf, sending up a cloud of dust, and used the key to release it from its chains.

There was another snarl. This one was distant.  Then there was a thud from the direction of the door.

“Rose, we have a problem!” came Lorcan’s voice, echoing through the library.

Rose tucked the book under her arm and ran toward the front of the library.  She found Lorcan pushing on the door with all of his might, trying to close it as a skeletal arm was caught between it and the jamb.  He gave the door a bodily shove.  With a gruesome crunch and squelch, Lorcan severed the arm with the door, effectively closing off the library.  The hand continued to move its fingers like a struggling spider as it lay on the floor in a mess of black blood.

Stunned, Rose stood there quietly and felt her skin crawl as she watched the amputated arm with both fascination and disgust.  It was a good minute before she could regain her wits to move or to speak.  And when she did, she said calmly, “Right… I’ll get on reading then.”

Lorcan gave her an incredulous look.  “Are you bloody joking?”

“Make yourself useful and pile up some books to block the door,” she commanded and then gestured at the Muggle and Wizarding Fiction section.  “Use those first.  They’re garbage.” 

Lorcan continued to gape at Rose in disbelief.  “We need to tell the others!”  

Rose paused.  “Good point.  You should go ahead and do that,” she suggested, “I’ll stay here and research. You can use books from the Charms and Enchantments section to clear a path.  They’re old and leather-bound.  Quite heavy.  Should do the trick to slow down The Cursed.”

“You’re bloody mad!” Lorcan declared.

“No, Scamander, I think I’m the only sane person in this castle.  While you all swing your swords and shoot your arrows, I’ll be here, figuring out how to really stop The Cursed.  As you’ve already seen, they are unaffected by magic.  Undeterred by violence against their bodies.”  She kicked at the flailing severed arm tentatively, and it moved with more vigor.  “Gross…,” she remarked, scrunching up her nose.

She flicked her wand and sent a pile of fiction books flying from the shelves.  With another deft flick, the books fell upon the Cursed arm, trapping it there.

Understanding seemed to dawn on Lorcan’s face, if a bit slowly.  Finally, he said, impressed, “You’re a genius.” 

Rose shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, I try.”  She took the book from under her arm and glared at it determinately.  “Don’t make me look stupid now, _Necromancy Practices and Death Rituals of Haiti, The Dominican Republic,_ _And The American Deep South_.  If you do, I shall replace you with _Aztec Ceremonial Death Magic._ ”

Lorcan narrowed his eyes at her in confusion.

Rather than uselessly trying to explain, Rose kept Lorcan on task.  “Very well.  You know what to do, Lorcan.  Hurry now. Find McGonagall.”

 

  

_LATER_

 

Parvati had already sensed the state of emergency in the moments before her worst fears were confirmed. Even before the silver otter had come heralding the arrival of The Cursed with Hugo Weasley’s voice, the portraits adorning the castle walls seemed agitated in the way they often were when particularly scandalous gossip had been running rampant amongst them.

Even before Lorcan Scamander had come running down the corridor with black blood splattered on his clothes and dripping from his sword, something just felt inexplicably wrong about the castle – the subsonic hum of magic that resonated within Parvati’s core at the cellular level had already been vibrating on a slightly different wavelength, alerting her to a possible change in the protective wards around Hogwarts. 

Hugo’s patronus and Lorcan’s announcement had found Parvati, who was with Minerva, within seconds of each other.  Soon after, Professor Snape had popped into a portrait that was not his own to report the full extent of the security breach.  The Cursed were crawling through all the secret passages that they had thought were warded.  The passage from Hogsmeade by the statue of The One Eyed Witch had been breached. The passage from The Shrieking Shack through the trunk of the Whomping Willow had also been breached.  The passage from the lakeside into the dungeon – breached.  And none of the alarms had been tripped.  

Parvati, Minerva, and Lorcan rushed to the top of Memorial Tower and found Hugo, Louis, and Bryce there, watching Cursed Ones streaming out of the base of The Whomping Willow.

Minerva pointed her wand at her throat and her voice projected over the entirety of Hogwarts. “The Cursed are upon us.  I repeat: The Cursed are upon us.  All students are to regroup in Memorial Tower. Fall back.  Professors, await instructions.”  Her words echoed far and wide and would repeat themselves every five minutes. 

Then Minerva turned to the students.  “Louis and Hugo, stay here and monitor all the bridges to Memorial Tower.  If any Cursed Ones come across, dispatch them by all means necessary.  Lorcan, Bryce, help Louis and Hugo defend the tower.”  

She then addressed Parvati. “I’ll close the One Eyed Witch passage. You close the dungeon passage.  I will send word to Neville and Hanna to close the Whomping Willow passage, and to Teddy to round up the other students.” She sent up her feline patronus and it bounded off in search of the other professors.

“What about the Ministry? Should we not send word to them? To ask them for help?” Parvati asked.

Minerva sighed and spoke with a heavy heart, “If The Cursed are here, so far from any city, I doubt the Ministry still stands.  I doubt _London_ still stands.  We are on our own, Professor Patil.  We are on our own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I just saw Cursed Child in New York a few days ago and I have NO WORDS. I'm still reeling. It is SUCH a different experience to see it on stage than to read the script. Going forward, I will not be able to imagine anybody but Anthony Boyle as Scorpius, and I will forever hear his voice in my head when I write. 
> 
> *flails madly and cries* Scorbus is real!
> 
> This note has very little to do with The Cursed, but I just had to share. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I highly encourage you to read the stories written for the 2017 Live Journal HP Next Gen Fest, many of which can be found on AO3. They're all amazing and, unlike this story, they're complete!
> 
> Kudos are lovely and feedback (including constructive criticism) is always welcome and greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! More chapters to come! I've written several more that need to be edited.


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